CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(Monographs) 


ICI\AH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Inttltun  for  Historical  MIcroraproductlant  /  Initltut  Canadian  da  microraproductlona  hiatoriquaa 


1995 


Ttchnial  and  Bibliographk  Notn  /  Notts  tcchniquci  st  bibliographiquts 


The  Inititutt  has  atttmpied  to  obtain  th«  b«st  original 
copy  availabit  for  filming.  Fsaturti  of  this  copy  which 
may  bt  biWiographicaMy  uniqua,  which  may  altar  any 
of  tha  imagas  in  the  rtproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  changt  tha  usual  matliod  of  filming,  ara 
ehaeked  balow. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  la  maillaur  tMi  ^plaira  qu'il 
lui  a  iti  possible  da  «a  procurer.  Las  d^ils  da  cat 
exemplaire  qui  sont  paut4tre  umquas  du  point  de  »ue 
bibliographiqua.  qui  pauvant  modifier  una  image 
raproduita.  ou  qui  pauvant  axigar  urw  modif  icaticn 
dans  la  mithode  normale  de  f  ihnage  sont  indiquis 
ci-dessous. 


0  Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  coulaur 


□  Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  coulaur 


□  Covers  damaged/ 
I 


I  Couverture  andommagia 


□  Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  andommagies 


D 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminatad/ 
CcHiverture  rastaurie  ct/ou  pellicutte 


□  Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  rettauraas  et/ou  palticulias 


□  Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


D 


Coloured  maps/ 

CartM  gAogriphiquas  an  ooulaur 


0Paitl  dncolourad.  stairad  or  fo>ad/ 
Pagai  dacoloriai,  tachatiai  ou  piquias 

nPagas  datachad/ 
Pajas  d«tacti«as 


□ 

D 

n 
n 


n 


n 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  Macfc)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  li.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  ct/ou  illustrations  en  coulaur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Ralie  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  raliure  serree  peut  causer  da  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge  intcrieure 

Blank  leaves  addad  during  restoration  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutto 
lors  d'una  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  taxta, 
mais,  lorsque  cala  *tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ent 
pas  M  f  ilmies. 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  tupplimentaires: 


0Showth  rough/ 
1 


I  Transparence 

Q  Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualite  inigala  de  I'impression 

□  Continuous  pagination/ 
Pagination  continue 

□  Includes  indexlas)/ 
Comprend  un  (des)  index 

Title  on  header  ttken  from:/ 
Le  titre  de  I'en-tCte  proviant: 

Title  page  of  issue/ 

Page  da  titre  de  la  livraison 


D 


r~~|  Caption  of  iinia/ 


D 


Tine  da  dipan  da  la  livraison 

Masthead/ 

Ganerique  (pAriodiques)  de  la  livraison 


This  item  is  filmed  at  tha  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ca  document  est  filmi  au  uux  de  rMuction  indiqui  ci'dessous. 

lOX  14X  1«X 


12X 


71 


20X 


XX 


2*X 


28  X 


Th«  copy  filmad  har*  has  b««n  raproducad  thanki 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  film*  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
gtnArosiU  da: 

Bibllotheque  natlonale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
poHibIa  coniidaring  tha  r.ondition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacificatlona. 


Original  eopiat  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  fllmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impraa- 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprsssion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  —»■  Imaaning  "CON- 
TINUEO").  or  tha  symbol  y  Imaaning  "END"), 
whichavar  applias. 

Mspa.  platas.  charts,  ate,  may  ba  fllmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  eornar,  lafl  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  as 
raquirad.  Tha  fallowing  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
mathod: 


Las  imagas  suivantas  ont  *ta  raproduitas  avsc  Is 
plus  grsnd  soin.  compts  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattata  da  I'axamplairt  films,  at  an 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

Laa  axampiairaa  originaux  dont  la  eouvartura  *n 
papiar  ast  imprim*a  sont  fllmis  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darnlAra  paga  qui  eomporta  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas,  Tous  las  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmAs  an  commancant  par  la 
pramiara  paga  qui  eomporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraasion  ou  d'illustration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darniira  paga  qui  eomporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolaa  suivants  spparaitra  sur  la 
darnitra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbols  —^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  la 
symbols  7  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  cartas,  planchas,  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  atrs 
filmts  t  daa  taux  da  raduction  diffaranis. 
Lorsqua  la  document  ast  trop  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clicha,  il  ast  films  1  panir 
da  I'angla  supAriaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  i  droits, 
at  da  haut  an  bas,  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nicassaira.  Las  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mtthoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MldOCOfY   RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


l^lliilii 


_^  APPLIED  IM^GE    In 

^K  1653   Eost   Main   Slre«t 

S^^  Rochester,   New  York         1*609       USA 

■-T-  C^ie)   482  -  030O  -  Phone 

^S  (-"'G)   288  -  5939  -  Fox 


] 

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1 

i 

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LIFTED  VEIL 

r 

basil'king 

i 

1' „ 

V'l^^^^^^^^^^^Kf-:'' ' ' 

HB^^^ 

)PM.  (  frnJt 


WAS    CRYING    BITTERLV      ..  „ 


Author  of  "The  Side  of  The  Angels" 
"The  Way  Home,"  Etc. 


WITH    FRONTISPIECE 
By  JAMES  MONTGOMERY  FLAGG 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

PnbUawlhrATO^mcnt  wit),  H*«„  &  B,oth«. 


'    W'   O  k,"  V    j 


I5 


1*»  L<n»D  v«n. 


00938161 


THE    LIFTED   VEIL 


THE    LIFTED    VEIL 


CHAPTER  I 


AT  the  time  it  began  Bainbridge  was  still  a  stranger 
in  New  York.  He  was  so  much  a  stranger  as  to  be 
often  lonely,  sometimes  bewildered,  and  homesick  by 
fits  and  starts.  When  he  was  homesick  it  was  sot  so 
much  for  any  particular  domestic  group  as  it  wais  for  the 
well-ordered,  stratified  life  he  had  known  in  Boston. 
N'  -IT  York  perplexed  him.  If  it  had  what  he  called  an 
organized  sodety  its  composition  transcended  his  range. 
He  could  find  neither  beginning  nor  end  to  it,  and  no 
cohesion  in  its  parts.  Among  the  people  whom  he  met 
he  could  see  little  more  than  a  confusion  of  separate 
entities,  each  "on  his  own."  They  seemed  to  him  to 
,ome  from  nowhere  and  to  be  on  the  way  to  nowhere. 
They  gave  no  account  of  themselves  and  asked  nothing  of 
the  kind  from  others.  He  appraised  them  as  the  sort  of 
people  among  whom  strange  things  happened  jmd  for 
whom  there  were  no  rules.  They  might  be  dating  or 
eccentric  or  inconsequent  or  worse — ^very  much  worse — 
and  no  one  would  be  surprised. 

He  himself  was,  ther^ore,  not  surprised  when,  in  the 
early  twilight  of  a  November  afternoon,  a  heavily  veiled 
woman  came  to  his  house,  asking  to  see  him,  but  declining 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

fomm  ,  load  „(  i:    T  *™  ™."*"'"  *»"«-">«". 
to  gn^at  capitals     He^r?  ^  ^* '^  ""«=*=^*°««1 

Phase  Of  tS  h^.i*::.srSer*^°^r^ 

were  for  :„a„:^ther  than  xZ^^'Sr-    2?2: 
^.bdued  and  utili^d  and  „^/S 2^a  ^Sr^'oS 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

could  be  as  much  greater  than  any  of  them  aa  the  ship, 
with  its  adjusted  machinery,  is  greater  than  the  formless, 
watering  sea. 

Here,  on  the  other  hand,  the  dty  was  the  thing — 
gigantic,  tumultuous,  terrifying,  monstrous.  It  had  as- 
pects like  those  of  a  vast  mechanism  seen  in  a  nightmare, 
pounding  and  stamping  and  pushing  and  shrieking  and 
suffering,  without  pity  as  without  rest.  Of  man  it  made 
nothing.  He  was  mere  grist  for  its  mill,  and  was  ground 
up  in  it.  With  no  soul  of  its  own,  it  mocked  at  the  soul 
in  him,  and  laughed  down  a  belief  in  it.  Bainbridge  was 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  harder  to  have 
faith  in  a  spiritiial  life  in  New  Yoric  than  in  any  other 
spot  in  the  world.  He  was  wondering  miserably  whether 
he  should  stand  by  the  work  he  had  undertaken  or  run 
away  from  it  when  Mrs.  Wedlock  came  to  his  door  to 
announce  the  visitor. 

Being  seated  at  the  flat-topped  de,sk  which  held  the 
center  of  the  room,  with  his  back  to  the  fading  light,  he 
rose  as  the  tall  figure,  veiled  and  shrouded  like  a  Moham- 
medan woman,  appeared  on  the  dim  threshold.  He  had 
been  expecting  a  book  agent  or  a  solicitor  of  subscriptions, 
but  he  could  see  at  a  glance  that  this  was  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other.  In  her  carriage  there  was  something 
that  betokened  refinement,  and  probably  position  in  the 
world.  Motc  than  this  it  was  impossible  to  guess,  because 
of  the  thick  black  veil  and  long  black  cloak. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  low  that 
he  could  barely  distinguished  the  words,  "but  that 
doesn't  matter.  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you,  if  you'll 
let  me  and  have  the  time.    Have  you?" 

"I've  plenty  of  time.    Please  come  in." 

As  he  went  forward  to  place  a  seat  for  her  she  slipped 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

fato^Mupright  Chair  tiut  happened  to  be  rtaadlng  nwr 

He  Umself  «t  down  again  at  his  desk,  waiting  for 
her  to  state  her  errand. 

"I  heard  your  senaon   last   Sunday  afternoon,"  she 

SJ^^"  T*i°^  '^*'  ^  "^'^  ^^  «cogni«d  the 

thlt*^*  ^'"  ^  "T^-  "'*  *PP'^«'  to  n«,  in  the  sense 
ttat  It  has  made  me  annk  of  things,  and  I've  thought  that 
perhaps  you  could  help  me.  I  dare  say  you  caa-t  "  she 
went  on,  rather  hteiedly,  "and  that  it  ^y  be  f  JS 
on  my  part  to  have  come."  ^^^ 

"Noihing  is  ev«  fooMsh  that  we  do  fiom  a  good  m<^ 
bve,  he  encouraged,  "m  all  action  the  motive  is  the 
mam  thing— even  when  we  make  mistakes  " 

hei7^  ^  ^  ^°"  **  *™*^'"  ^^  ^""^^  "^  *^'* 
'■Probably  not;  but  I  shaU  have  to  leave  that  with  you 
teafcddJ^^**^  you  think  it  right  to  tell-and  don't 
"lam  a&aid-but  neither  does  that  matter  very  much 
ll^  r^  ''^°  "^"^  ^  called"-^e  hesitated,  but 
xou  know  what  that  means,  don't  you?" 

"I  know  what  you  mean— or  I  think  I  da    If  I'm 
wrong  you  must  correct  me." 

Ste  sem«d  to  reflect    "Why  do  you  speak  of  what  I 
m^?    she  asked  at  last    "Shouldn't  you  mean  it, 

.,.^1'^*'  was  glad  that  he  couldn't  see  her  face,  since 

^fff^  «i«  more  free  to  speak  frankly.    "If  there's  a 

ilifference  between  us  it  probably  comes  from  the  fact 

4 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

that  we've  difierent  conceptions  of  sin.  You  call  yoursdf 
a  sinner  because  you've  done  one  kind  of  wrong  thing, 
whereas  to  me  you  would  have  been  a  ainaer  whether  yoa 
had  done  it  or  not." 

"Yes,  but  only  in  the  way  in  whidi  every  one  else  is  a 
sinner— " 

"The  way  in  which  every  one  else  is  a  unner  is  the  way 
that  counts.  It  isn't  what  we  do  that's  so  very  important: 
it's  our  whole  attitude  of  mind." 

"That's  something  like  what  you  said  on  Sunday;  but 
I  don't  understand  it.    If  what  I  do  isn't  important — " 

"It  «  important— but  less  for  itself  than  because  it 
shows  what  lies  behind  it.  It  isn't  the  disease;  it's  the 
symptom." 

"And  you  think  that  if  there  hadn't  been  one  kind  of 
symptom  there  would  have  been  another." 

"There  are  symptoms  wherever  there's  disease.  It's 
no  use  to  consider  the  effect  while  we  leave  the  cause 
undisturbed." 

"  In  my  case  the  cause  was  that  I  fell  in  love  with  a  man 
I  had  no  right  to  fall  in  love  with,  just  as  he  had  no  right 
to  fall  in  love  with  me.  But,  then,  neither  of  us  could 
help  it." 

Bainbridge  smiled  faintly.  "Youll  have  to  forgive 
me  if  I  say  that  that,  too,  was  an  effect.  The  cause  lay 
farther  back." 

From  the  way  in  which  the  veiled  head  was  bent  he 
gathered  that  she  was  trying  to  think  this  out.  When 
she  looked  up  it  was  to  say :  ' '  Then  I  don't  know  what  the 
cause  is.    I  was  all  right  before  that." 

"Were  you?    What  do  you  mean  by  all  right?" 

"  I  hadn't  done— I  hadn't  done  anything  wrong.  I  was 
what  is  called  a  good  woman." 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

af  .-_  T:  *,^°°**  woman  is  considerable.  We  mi»t 
Aer,£r^*  i*"'"^ ««  caUed  and  «aoh  ^a^^^ 
Agam  she  took  a  long  nunute  for  reflection,  asking  at 

He  Wn^T  ""^  *'^*  I  w«a-t  a  good  womn^^ 
He  leaned  on  the  cksk    tnviTi»  »Sn,  . 

"That's  hardly  for  me  to«vV^  -r        *  P*P«*-knife. 

myopimon-''  "^^^  ««*  >f  you  want  to  knew 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"SSSJ.P^'^-"^*"^'*«^^P«>b«b«e." 
w£>^s^>,?l''-  ^  «-«  -easin^s  with 
yo^.T:as°";e^?r    "^  -  a  .'do^^Ue 

EiHt^F-^-^^-^ 

Qu    !u  ^®  diflference  is  there." 

ha^  hS^itT  !;L'^  ^  ^'^^<^-    "She  would 

reached  her.'-^  ^"'^"^  *°  y°«  ««l'J°'t  have 

"Ah,  that's  easy  to  sayP' 

unhappiness  that  spri^i"?^  ""  ^^  «  ^^"^^  «>« 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"That  it,  you  thought  they  were  good;  but  there  wm  a 
flaw  in  the  goodness  somewhere.  Don't  you  see,  it  all 
lies  in  what  we  mean  by  right — and  by  w;  iig?" 

"Wdl,  what  do  we  mean?" 

"What  do  you  mean  3rouneIf? — let  us  say  by  wrong?" 

"By  wrong  I  suppose  I  mean  a  transgressian  cf  the 
moral  law." 

"Yes;  and  what  makes  one  transgress  it?" 

She  considered  this  at  length.  "I  suppose  sooie  phase 
of  desire." 

"That's  a  very  good  answer.  So  that  back  of  the 
actual  transgression  is  thought.  If  wrong  wasn't  first 
in  the  mind  it  wouldn't  be  in  the  body — or  on  the  lips — 
or  in  the  hand — or  anywhere.  Good  and  evil  express 
themselves  in  act;  but  in  fact  they  are  mental  sympathies." 

"So  that  what  you  mean  by  a  good  woman — ?" 

"Is  one  whose  thoughts  are  kept  as  strictly  as  possible 
with  good." 

"On,  but  what  kind  of  a  woman  would  that  be?" 

Raising  his  head,  he  looked  at  her  through  the  gathering 
darkness.     "The  fact  that  you  can  ask  that — " 

"Shows  that  when  I  thought  I  was  a  good  woman  I 
was  really  a  bad  one.  Is  that  what  you  were  going  to 
say'" 

"No;  shows  rather  that  you've  never  understood  what  a 
good  woman  really  is.  The  whde  thing  is  mental.  It's 
a  matter  of  understanding.  If  your  mind  had  been  right 
your  Lsart  wouldn't  have  gone  wrong.  It  couldn't  have 
happened." 

"  If  you  were  a  woman — "  she  began  to  protest. 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I'm  a  woman  or  a  man. 
In  good  there  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  neither  male  nor 
female.  It's  not  a  question  dther  of  sex  or  (^  psychology." 
7 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


"Tomeitieemtboth." 

"Po«bly;  andjretwlofigMitdoeiyoullbecooftised 
•bout  youndf  and  perhape  go  further  ast«y." 

He  fancied  she  resented  his  language,  since  she  again 
•toed  uneasay  and  spoke  in  a  tone  slightly  of  (rfEense  "I 
ha^  thought  of  myself  precisely  a«  having  gone  astray--" 
One  doesn't  unless  one  has  the  true  nonn  of  con- 
duct  before  one.  And  yet  whatever  isn't  nonnal  is  ab- 
normal, just  as  whatever  isn't  straight  is  crooked." 

"Oh,  would  you  caU  it  abnormal--doing  as  I  did?" 

'■  Abnonnal  in  the  sense  that  the  only  nonnal  is  the 
right.  , 

"To  me  it  seemed  right." 

"Right  to  4o  wrong?    You  admitted  that  it  was 
wrong,  didn't  you?" 
"Not  all  wrong.'" 
"  If  it  was  wrong  in  any  way — "   ' 

"We-we  cared  for  each  other.  That  in  itself  was  a 
reason—" 

"For  betraying  some  one  else?" 

Once  more  the  shrouded  figure  moved.  "You're  verv 
severe." 

^^  Is  there  any  use  in  being  gentle?    If  there  is,  tell  me." 
You'd  know  that  better  if  you  knew  what  I've  been 
through.    It's  what  I  hoped  you'd  let  me  speak  to  you 
about."  ' 

"Then  I  beg  your  pardon.    May  I  ask  you  to  go  on?" 
It  was  only  lifter  a  silence  that  seemed  long  that  she 

said,  abruptly,  "I  never  was  happy— not  till  then." 
As  she  was  again  silent:  "Then?    You  mean  when— " 
"  When— when  it  all  came  about.    It  took  me— it  took 

t'.s— by  surprise.    We  didn't  mean  anythiag— we  didn't 

espect  anything.    It— it  flared  up." 
8 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"Dow  anything  ever  flare  up  uutett  there's  lomethins 
of  wUcfa  to  make  a  fire?" 

"Yott  must  let  me  tell  you,"  she  said,  irrdevently. 
"I  was  bom  right  here  in  New  York,  and  I'm  now  exactly 
twenty-eight  years  old." 

"You're  young,  then.  I  didn't  know  that,  because  I 
can't  see  you." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  see  me.  Not  that  you'd  know  me. 
I've  never  met  you  before,  except  for  seeing  you  last 
Sunday  in  church.  I  don't  genwally  go  to  church.  I 
don't  know  what  made  me  do  it  then,  apart  from  having 
heard  some  friends  of  mine  speak  of  your  preaching;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  get  out  of  myself  or  go  mad." 

"Then  you're  tiot  happy." 

"Not  now;  bv.t  I  was— for  a  while.  But  you  don't  let 
me  tell  you."  She  began  her  explanations  again.  "We 
lived  a  good  deal  abroad,  my  mother  and  I.  My  father 
died  when  I  was  young.  I  had  no  brothers  or  sist'.'s. 
It  was  in  Europe  we  met  a  man  who  wanted  to  mirry  me. 
He  was  older  than  I— a  good  deal.  I  would  rather  not 
have  married  him  because — " 

As  she  hesitated  he  helped  her  out,  "Because  you 
didn't  care  for  him?" 

"Partly  that,  and  partly  that  I  had  already  seen  a  man 
who— who  impressed  me  more — only  that  I  wasn't  exactly 
in  love  with  him,  either.  He  asked  me,  and  I  refused 
him,  but  I  thought  about  him.  And  then  this  second  man 
came — a  rich  man — a  New-Yorker,  too — and  my  mother 
seemed  to  want  it — and  so — " 

"And  so  you  accepted  him?" 

"He  didn't  Uve  very  long  after  we  were  married— only 
four  years.  That  made  me  twenty-four  when  he  died. 
He  left  me  a  good  deal  of  money." 


m 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

'And  the  other  man  came  back?  Was  that  it?" 
She  shook  her  head.  "No;  he's  in— in  another  ooun- 
try.  I've  never  seen  him  since.  He  was  striking— and 
perhaps  if  he'd—  But  he  never  came  back.  I  read  about 
hnn  aometimes-in  the  papers.  You'd  probably  know 
his  name.  He's  been  married  since  then— and  is  now 
a  widower.  But  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  what  I'm 
gomg  to  teU  you-«tcept  that  at  one  time  if  he'd  only— 

OTly  insisted  a  Uttle  more But  all  that's  nothing. 

what  really  happened  was  with  some  one  else." 

To  relieve  her  agitation  he  asked,  in  a  commonplaoe 
voice,  "Shall  I  turn  on  the  Ught?" 

She  repHed.  quickly:  "No;  please!  There's  Ught 
enough,  and  I  can  tell  you  better  as  we  are."  A  few 
seconds  passed  before  she  could  resume  her  tale.  "  When 
my  husband  died  I  brought  him  back  from  Europe,  where 
we  had  been  Uving,  to  be  buried  in  his  own  country.  I 
forgot  to  say  that  my  mother  had  died  two  years  before. 
I  realized  then  that  it  was  the  reason  why  she  wanted 
me  to  marry  my  husband.  She  knew  she  couldn't  be 
with  me  much  longer,  and  so  she  wanted  me  to  be  taken 
care  of.  But  that  left  me  without  friends— I  mean  any 
one  very  near  to  me. " 

"And  you  were  only  twenty-four,"  he  said,  sympa- 
thetically. 

"There  was  just  one  person,"  she  continued,  "a  woman, 
a  distant  cousin,  two  or  three  years  older  than  myself. 
She'd  been  married  about  the  same  time  as  I  had  been. 
I'd  known  her  all  my  life,  without  ever  knowing  her 
verj  weU.  She  asked  me  to  stay  with  her  when  I  came 
back  for  the  funeral— and  then  I  met— I  met  her— her 
husband." 


"Ii 


10 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Nothing  happened  at  first— not  for  a  kng  while. 
They  persuaded  me  to  stay  in  this  country,  and  I  took 
a  house.    We  became  very  intimate.    We're  very  intimate 

stiU." 

"In  spite  of—" 

"Yes;  we  have  to  be.  I  can't  let  her  suspect  that— 
But  what  happened  was  this."  Again  some  seconds  went 
by  before  she  could  continue.  "But  I  needn't  teU  you 
that.  You  must  see.  I  only  want  to  say  that  I  wasn't 
expecting  anything.  I  was  hardly  thitiking  of  any- 
thing— " 

"You  say  hardly.  That  means  that  you  were  think- 
ing—" 

"We  couldn't  be  meeting  nearly  every  day  without— 

"Oh  yes,  you  could.    The  mental  door  had  been  left 

open,  and  so — " 

"One's  human,"  she  piot;  ted,  with  a  hint  of  tears. 
"No;   one's  divine.    That's  what  you  don't  seem  to 
tmderstand.    By  telling  yourself  that  you're  human  you 
make  yourself  weak." 
"But  low  weak." 

"No,  you're  strong.  One  is  weak  or  strong  according 
as  one  believes  oneself.  As  a  man  thinketh—  You 
know  the  rest  of  the  proverb." 

"It  took  me  wholly  by  surprise,"  she  pursued,  as  it 
took  him.  I  know  he  had  never  anticipated  anything  of 
the  kind,  or  if  he  had  he  thought  he'd  be  able  to  with- 
stand it.  It  was  one  aftemoOTi  in  the  winter— late.  His 
wife  had  sent  him  to  my  house  with  a  message,  and  we'd 
been  having  tea  together.  There  was  a  fire  burmng,  and 
we'd  been  sitting  in  the  half-Ught.  It  wasn't  tiU  he  got 
up  to  go  away  that— that  something  came  over  us  both. 
...  It  was  sudden  and  electric— I'd  never  known  .-x-i  • 


;  ii 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

thing  (rf  the  sort  before.  I'd  never  been  in  love  witt  any 
one— not  teaUy.  It  didn't  matter  to  me  then  that  the 
man  was  some  one  I  had  no  right  to  love— that  he  was 
another  woman's  husband.  Nothing  would  have  mattered 
to  me,  not  if  it  was  to  be  death  the  next  moment.  He 
tossed  me;  we  kissed  each  other.  It  was-it  was  like  a 
Jnamage-*  marriage  far  more  real  than  my  real  mar- 
nage.  ...  It  was  two  years  figo." 

"And  since  then — ?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  You  see, 
It  was  this  way.  For  the  first  year  we  lived  in  a  kind  of 
heaven.  The  secrecy  and  the  deceit  didn't  matter  to 
«thw  of  us.  We  often  talked  about  that  side  of  it,  and 
SMd  how  strange  it  was  that  there  should  be  people  in  the 
world  who'd  condemn  us.  It  didn't  seem  wrong  to  us- 
it  seemed  right— and  natural."  ' 

"  iTiat  kind  of  Ue  is  often  told  by  sin,  but  it  can't  keen 
It  up."  *^ 

She  drew  a  sharp,  audible  breath,  but  controUed  heiself 
sufficiently  to  say:  "It  didn't  keep  it  up  with  u»-what- 
ever  it  was.    I  think  it  was  he  who  felt  it  first." 

"The  man  ctften  does." 

"I  remember  that  it  was  toward  the  end  of  the  first 
year  that  I  began  to  see— or  rather  to  feel— that  he  hadn't 
his  own  mner  support,  as  at  first.  When  he  came  to  see 
me  he  vras  often  grave  and  depressed.  He  began  to  be 
worried,  too,  for  fear  his  wife  should  find  out." 

"Didn't  he  want  her  to  find  out— and  set  hiii  free?" 

"No;  neither  of  us  wanted  that.  I  don't  kno  v  why, 
exactly,  but  we  preferred  the  situation  as  it  was  If  I 
couldn't  hold  him  in  that  way  I  would  rather  have  let 
him  go. 

"And  couldn't  you  hold  him?" 

13 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"The  question  never  rose.  Before  the  year  was  past 
I  began  to  have  the  same  misgivings  as  he.  It  wasn't 
that  I  regretted  anything.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  regret 
anything  now.  But— but  I  began  again  to  see  things  as 
other  people  see  them,  and— and  to  be  worried.  From 
being  worried  I  became  unhappy,  and  from  being  un- 
happy— " 

"  Yf" '  've  become  repentant.    Is  that  it?" 

"I  don't  know  what  repentance  is.  It's  what  I  want 
you  to  tell  me." 

"Repentance  is  being  suflfidently  sorry  for  what  one 
has  done  to  give  it  up." 

"  If  that's  all  it  is,  then— then  I  suppose  I'm  repentant. 
I've-^we've— given  it  up." 

"Since  when?" 

"  More  than  six  months  ago.    We  meet— we  have  to— 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  don't  care  about  each  other 

any  more?" 

Again  he  heard  the  hard-drawn  breath.  '  I  don  t  know 
what  he  feels  for  me.  What  I  feel  for  him  is  chiefly— is 
chiefly  pity.    He's  not  happy;  and  yet  he  has  to  act  as  if 

he  was."  , . 

"That  is,  he  has  to  keep  up  the  comedy  of  loving  his 

wife  when  he  doesn't." 

"And  never  did.  If  you  knew  them  you  d  see  how  that 
could  happen,  and  neither  of  them  be  to  blame— or  not 

much."  ...    1.      *i, 

"Possibly;  and  yet  we're  less  concerned  with  them  tnan 

with  you.    Now  that  you've  told  me  so  much,  may  I  ask 
you  still  another  question?    What  is  it  exactly  that  you 
want  me  to  explain?" 
She  considered  this.    The  room  was  now  so  dim  that 

13 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


behind  her.  "I  ,^Tff^  ^'^  ^  *  bookcase 
"Admitting  thai  ZIZ^Ti^l'"  *^  "^^"^  "*  "-*• 
to.the  word,  what  wiu'Ct;;,"'dX^.^'"'"^^- 
•  aS^  .^  "  y««  want  it  to  do  for  yoj^ 

::;nt/o^^T^„^^— ^-hcestin^tion. 
.,«  can't  of  coui^,  blot  out  the  facts  " 
Then  what  can  it  do?" 

"mriSr  ?""  '^'^^  significance." 
_  wnat  kmd  of  significance?" 

gJ-Z,T'  them  the  oc^on  of  your  turning  to 

''But  I'm  not  sure  that  I  am  " 

He  aUowed  h^^^Z'^Z^^T"^^  beunhappy." 

What  ,-.  turning   to  qS?^        ,  °''^  ^  ^^  '^i- 

going  to  church.?'^  "^^  ^^  ^'  l^t-     "Is  it 

Mly°;eSrgol'SH'".  T"^  '^"'^  *°  <^°  with  it. 

rfwrch.    Ican'tputrvt^  ^°*^^'^°°«^«-goto 

n>ore  than  I  canTatKr^^'^^*'"*°^^^wonls%ny 
give  you  a  clue  tTtrat""^  t^°  7^  '^''  ^*  I  -n' 
perhaps  Sist  of  all  thf  f™;l-  ^       Turmng  to  God  is 

G<xxi  rather  4^  t^tJl^'  "4^^'^  "^'^  ^  «-  with 
^^_^_  uian  mth  Evil.    When  you  begin  to  do 

14 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"You  find  that  life  resolves  itself  of  its  own  accord  into 
the  normal— the  natural— the  peaceful.  You  put  on 
what  St.  Paul  calls  the  new  num.  In  proportion  as  you 
do  that  the  old  man,  the  siiming  self,  grows  less  insistent, 
till  finally  it  disappears." 

"Ptom  the  memory?" 

"You  may  not  want  it  to  disappear  from  the  memory 
when  you  see  it  as  the  starting-point  of  so  much  blessed- 
ness." 

"Yes,  if  one  does!" 

"That  would,  of  course,  depend  on  yourself.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  who  would  like  the  end,  but  who  won't 
take  the  trouble  to  pursue  the  means.  If  you're  going  to 
do  anything  at  all  you  must  understand  beforehand  that 
it  can  only  be  through  hard  work." 

"Hard  work  in  what  way?" 

"In  a  good  many  ways.  You'll  have  to  take  yourself  in 
hand  thoroughly." 

"What  should  I  have  to  do  first?" 

"Begin  at  the  beginning.  You  speak  of  yourself  as 
possibly  repentant;  but  you  can't  repent  of  one  sin, 
leaving  the  rest  untouched." 

"There's  only  one  that  has  troubled  me." 

"But  when  you  begin  at  the  beginning  you'll  probably 
find   a   good  many.    There's   something  in   the   New 
Testament  on  the  subject  of  bringing  every  thought  into   ' 
captivity  to  the  obedience  of  Christ.    You'd  have  to 
try  to  do  that — make  it  a  kind  of  goal." 

On  this  she  made  no  direct  comment,  again  sitting  for  a 
time  in  silence.  The  obscurity  d>  -pened  so  fast  that  when 
she  spoke  hei  voice  seemed  to  come  to  him  out  of  dark- 
ness. "If  I  did,  should  I  become  good  enough,  let  us 
say,  to— :to  marry  again?" 

»5 


1' 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

™?h.*^''*^*°'^'^'*P'y-  "There's  also  something 
^^^,,  Testament  which  says:  'If  any  man  beto 
Chnst  he  IS  a  new  creature.  Old  things  have  passed  away 
^^]^''^'  ^thatteU^hT;^' 
"Not  exactly;  I'm  askings" 

"You  mustn't  ask  too  much  at  once.  In  the  life  we're 
^dei^gwetakebutonestepatatime.  Havingta^^ 
that  to  the  best  of  our  ability,  we  see  the  next  one." 

Then  suppose  I  put  it  in  this  way;  If  a  man  were  to 
Mk  me  to  marry  ,hm^  should  I  be  fi^  to  accept  him- 
without  telhng  him  what  I  had  done?" 

Efe  spoke  with  some  fervor.  "If  you're  repenting^- 
ortey:^  to  repent-^.n  order  to  be  good  enough  to  ma^r 
^am,  let  me  teU  you  now  that  you  won't  do  it.    You  must 

of  God.  The  only  motive  for  repentance  is  to  put  one- 
self mto  hannony  with  Good.  In  proportion  as  you  do 
ttat  you  receive  good.  Questions  are  answered  and  dif- 
nculties  are  smoothed  away." 

She  put  her  inquiry  into  stiU  another  form.  "And  sud- 
posethat  were  to  happen,  should  I  be  justified  ii.  lettine 
a  good  mac  make  me  his  wife?" 

"You'd  know  that  >(rhen  the  situation  arose"  He 
^rf.^_oa  a  sudden  impulse.  "The  situation  hasn't  arisen. 

"No.    I'm  only  wondering.    Imerely  want  to  get  back 
—and  be  what  I  was  before." 
T^ere  was  a  sudden  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he  said- 
When  you  want  to  be  better  than  you  were  before  you'U 
accomphsh  something.    I  don't  think  you  will  tiU  then  " 
As  she  rose  he  foUowed  her  example,  though  he  re- 
maoned  standmg  at  his  desk. 
i6 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"Thank  you."  she  said,  simply.  "I'll  go  now.  I 
think  I  understand  what  you  mean.  Perhaps  some  day 
I  may  find  a  way  to  let  you  know  that  I've  profited  by 
what  you've  told  me.    Good-by — and  thank  you  again." 

"Shall  I  show  you  to  the  door?" 

"No;  please  don't.  I  know  the  way.  Good-by;  good- 
by." 

Peering  into  the  darkness,  he  could  barely  see  that  she 
passed  swiftly  and  almost  silently  into  the  hall,  though 
he  remained  standing  and  listening  till  he  heard  the  street 
door  close  behind  her. 


I 


1 


f 

i^ 


CHAPTER  II 

'TO  this  incident  there  was  no  sequel  in  Bainbridge's 
A  He  for  neariy  a  year  and  a  half . 
What  the  occurrence  did  for  him  fiist  of  all  was  to 
show  hun  ttat  even  in  New  York  there  were  people 
l^Z^l-'^t'^'f^^  for  some  sort  of  spiritual  ^^. 
ft  gave  him.  therefore,  a  zest  in  his  work  which  was  lackine 
before  and  a  sense  of  being  useful.  When  his  heart  was 
hMvy  It  renewed  his  courage  to  think  that  he  r  ^-ht  be 

^T^^'^l°"  ^^"^  '^^  ^  "°  °"«  ^  t°  P<»«t  the 
way  When  his  pteachmg  tended  to  be  lifeless,  it  added 
fire  to  bs  words  to  remember  that  the  unknown  woman 
might  be  hstemng.  Where  there  was  work  to  be  done  he 
easjiy  found  hmiself  at  home,  and  so  ceased  to  pine,  escept 
at  long-separated  intervals,  for  Boston. 

That  be  should  think  of  his  veiled  visitor  was  natural 
Dunng  the  weeks  immediately  foUowing  their  conversa- 
faon  he  often  fancied  he  saw  hei-in  the  street,  in  shops, 
n  hotels,  m  church.  He  associated  with  her  any  fa^ 
that  caught  his  attention,  any  tall,  gUding  form.  Of  her 
v^oe  he  had  hardly  a  recollection.  Her  speech  had 
been,  perhaps  purposely,  kept  so  low  that  his  ear  retained 
no  more  than  the  audible  utterancr  of  words. 

And  yet  as  time  went  on  his  imagination  dwelt  on  her 
less  and  less.    The  impossibility  of  recognition  was  an 
element  m  this  detachment,  while  new  experienpes  of 
x8 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


interest  thrust  into  the  background  the  memory  of  minutes 
of  which  the  haunting  power  was  chiefly  in  their  mystery. 

He  b^an  to  make  friends.  Among  the  people  of 
St.  Mary  Magdalen's  he  discovered,  more  or  less  below 
the  stirface,  a  degree  ci  quiet,  well-organized  social 
cohesion  of  which  even  Massachusetts  would  not  have  been 
ashamed.  In  and  through  and  under  the  city's  turmoil 
he  found  that  family  life  which  n  nther  the  nation  nor  the 
world  could  do  without,  and  with  which  he  was  glad  to 
connect  himself.  It  was  not  so  obvious  as  it' often  was 
elsewhere,  and  yet  could  be  extracted  from  the  formless 
mass,  like  radium  from  pitchblende.  With  some  slight 
surprise  he  learned  that  there  were  people  in  New  York 
who  cared  for  the  same  things  as  himself,  and  that  in  the 
crowded  spaces  of  Manhattan  neither  civilization  nor 
Christianity  was  quite  submerged  by  the  htmian  tidal 
wave.  With  that  perception  his  interest  first  in  this 
little  circle  and  then  in  that  began  to  expand.  He 
dined  out  a  good  deal;  he  j(»ned  one  or  two  clubs.  With 
an  individual  or  a  family  here  and  there  he  farmed  sym- 
pathetic affiliations  or  ties  of  friendship.  There  were  two 
or  three  houses,  without  marriageable  daughters,  to  which 
he  could  turn  when,  for  emotional  reasons  or  because  of 
fatigue,  he  specially  needed  a  refuge. 

He  had  thus  all  but  foi^ottcn  the  one  strikmg  incident  of 
his  first  year  in  New  York  when  it  was  recalled  to  him. 
As  it  was  a  Saturday  morning,  he  was  again  in  his  study, 
preparing  his  sermon  for  the  following  day,  when  Mrs. 
Wedlock  entered  the  room  with  a  card.  "  The  gintleman 
in  the  droring-room,  sorr.  He's  the  wan  with  the  chin- 
whiskers  that's  been  here  twice  already,  only  you  was 
out." 

Taking  the  card,  Bainbridge  resid  the  vaguely  familiar 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


cc^  there  was  .  farther  iwcriptian.  "Mont«al."  ^ 
•  number  to  indicate  a  house  in  Sherbrooke  Streit 

The  nan«  and  address  drove  aU  thought  Tsam- 
tadgessennon  from  his  mind.    "He  mu^  waS  to^ 

thmk  of  while  he  directed  Mrs.  Wedlock  to  conduiTfte 
stranger  from  the  adjoining  ixxan.  «»«»«»««  the 

T^  new-comer  proved  to  be  a  handsome  man,  very 
correctly  dr«ssed.  perhaps  in  the  early  forUes,  and  th^ 
^,^  *«»  y««  «nior  to  Bainbridge  hSsS  ^ 
^  S!  '".^^l*-  r^*  P~P«ti<»*te  brLth  of  shodd^ 
he  brought  with  him  suggestions  of  the  club,  the^ 

««irse.  and,  as  Bainbridge  was  to  learn,  the  bani.wX 
fs-r  mustache  which  did  not  conceal  a  wod  h«m™l^ 

whTn  r  ^^^"^  '^  ^^  ''hen  he  spoke  or 

when  any  one  spoke  to  him.  his  expression  was  le^  Z 

^^T  ^  °'  '-^-I-^ting  teyishTesT  I^ 
h«ght  slender,  clean-shaven,  and  asceUc.  he  was  as  the 

SSs^or"^*^*^'"^-  i'--.howev;^: 

friT  °°.^*^P  of  evil  on  .-ts  comeliness,  and  much 
to  conunend  Its  good  looks.    Toil  had  left  no  .^1? 

Z^Te'^sT^'f^'^u'"^'''^-  It^-nsuo^i^i 
was  of  the  Anglc^Saxon  brand,  clean  and  sympathetic 
A  cnbc  bomid  to  find  fault  might  have  compaSC^ 
to  a  magmficent  building,  full  of  empty,  sw^and  ^ 

^ftJ^:^"'^  """^  "'""  ^  y«*  shelter^ 'a.ythS. 
Betwe«i  two  men  so  obviously  of  the  same  traditioS 

t   fT??^  ^"^  ^*^°"'  awkwardness.     They^d  n^ 
Sd~^  sit  do,^.   for  the  Canadian  iLiSt     ' 
Bambndge  an  envelope  sealed,  but  without  address. 

30 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"  I'm  asked,"  he  expluned, "  to  beg  you  to  look  at  this." 
The  voice  was  English,  with  that  indefinable  qtiality 
that  betokens  the  man  of  the  world. 

Bainbridge  biuke  the  seal,  and  read,  standing: 

I  am  the  woman  who  came  to  you  eighteen  months  ago.  Do 
you  remember?  If  so,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  the 
bearer  what  I  told  you  then?  I  have  tried  to  do  so,  but  I  find 
I  cannot.  Either  the  right  words  will  not  come  out  or  he 
does  not  understand.  I  have  told  him,  therefore,  to  listen 
to  you — and  go  away  or  come  back,  as  he  judges  best.  As 
you  will  probably  know  his  name  it  will  be  easy  for  you,  if 
you  choose,  to  learn  mine;  but  I  trust  you.  I  said  that  some 
day  I  might  find  a  way  to  let  you  know  that  I  had  profited  by 
your  words,  and  I  think  I  can  do  it  now. 


Bainbridge  read  these  lines  a  second  time  and  a  third. 
It  was  necessary  for  him  to  collect  his  thoughts  and  make 
sure  of  his  connection  with  the  incident  to  which  the 
writing  referred.  Many  women  had  come  to  him,  on 
one  errand  or  another,  within  the  past  year  <md  a  half, 
so  that  his  recollection  of  the  veiled  stranger,  while  re- 
maining apart  from  all  others,  had  lost  its  vividness. 
Between  each  reading  he  glanced  at  the  tall  Canadian, 
who  stood  erect  and  soldier-like,  waiting  without  im- 
patience. Minutes  had  passed  before  Bainbridge  could 
take  upon  himself  his  duties  as  a  host  and  say,  "Won't 
you  sit  down?" 

They  seated  themselves  on  either  side  of  the  smoldering 
fire  which  the  chill  in  the  wind  of  the  May  day  rendered 
acceptable.  The  clergyman  sank  absently  into  the  long 
low  arm-chair  he  was  in  the  habit  of  using.  The  visitor, 
whose  glove  left  hand  rested  on  his  hip,  while  his  mi- 
gloved  right  held  his  hat  and  stick,  took  the  round-backed 

31 


virf 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


office  cluur  at  the  other  mwI  ^  . 

«t  a.  rapidly  andw  dS^J^?!.  ">  <»^  «<>  thiak 

infonn  you  thaVT^'t^STtJ!  ^^  '*■  "^  "^^t  to 

Nothing— cert^y." 
Well,  then— uncertainly  >" 

"Still — nothing." 

I  m  afraid  I  don't  see  that,  sir" 
Bambndge  endeavored  to  explain     "A  io^    ^-.i 
to  me-about  a  year  and  a  b^lZ^  ,  ^  ^^  ^  *™e 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

«n^  my  diflerenoe.  for  the  rowon  that  the  coinmmrica- 

''k"V'''"°  ^^  ^'"'^  ^"^  5^  pennusiott-" 
T  ^in -i- M^l!™^^  "^^  ^^  guaranteed  than  it  is 
IstmcouldntavaUmysdfofit.    Whatever  there  is  to  be 
made  known  must  lie  between  you  and  her  " 
^X.'^  her  to  n«ny  „e,"  the  stranger  said. 

"I  inferred  that  it  was  something  like  that  " 
^  I  asked  her  once  befoi^years  ago-but  she  refused 

The  inwherent  story  Bainbridge  had  heard  from  her 
own  hps  began  to  come  back  to  him. 

ml^  ^2,  ^^J^"  I  "««i«d  some  one  else;  but 
Z^M^I  7^.  •""  ^^^  ''^  '^  the  next  year. 
3t^tt^  •  *r'  /°^*««P-<*°f aminut.the4.e- 
dS  ""P^°"l««' hand«»ne  face  grew  grave,  but  the 
cloud  passed  and  the  eyes  glinted  when  he  began  to 
speak  agam.  "Now  that  she's  free^nd  Trnfi^ 
I  ve  come  back  to  hei-^th  the  result  that  she's  given 
me  this  letter  to  you."  .  »"=»K»ven 

And  no  other  answer .'" 
"No  other  answer  as  yet." 

"Then  when  you  see  her  again  will  you  teU  her  that 
I  m  sorry,  but  that  I've  nothing  to  say?" 
"You  have  something  to  say,  if  you'll  only  say  it  " 
There  was  a  tension  in  the  minute  which  made  it 
^ssjble  for  the  glances  of  the  two  to  meet  in  a  sSing 
regard,  without  self-consciousness  on  either  side.  What 
Bambndge  saw  was  a  man  accustomed  to  be  obeyed; 

SltlhSo^^' ''  '^^*^-  «« --^ 

»3 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


•» 


you  thought  of  t4^  '^  ^^P'"""-    Have 

we  ca^-t  altogether  get  awa/fi:^".^  *"''  '^"^  "'"^ 
.et  a^'^aJIT Sr  ^°  "^'^^  '^'  '  -''  altogether 
ml'Zl  '2c?oM:r*"''/°'''"^  whateve^fron, 

she  Itr^e  S::.  °^  ^'^^^  ^  --*  '--.  >-*  o^  wh. 

"Then  she's  at  Uberty  to  teU  you.    As  it  «  «n.  „f  ^ 
thmgs  strikes  n>e  as  wise.    It  i  ^  l^t^^thlT" 
you  not  to  pr^  the  matter  further  or  for  h^tn  f  f 

w^i  1  sna  n  t  attempt  to  go  mto.    I  was 
24 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

the  elder  of  the  two  xns,  and  sat  :.eded  my  father  in  the 
business.  He  was  frerdy  in  a  :  i^  way  of  doing  things 
when  the  expansion  ct  Canada,  wjich  b^an  in  the  middle 
nineties,  gave  him  further  openings.  He  was  a  philan- 
thropic, public-spirited  man,  not  unknown  in  the  United 
States—" 

"I  recognized  your  name,  without  having  anything 
exact  to  connect  with  it." 

"That  is,  you  recognized  my  father's  name.  He  was 
created  first  a  K.  C.  B.  and  afterward  a  baronet  by  Queen 
Victoria,  not  long  before  she  died.  That's  how  it  happens 
that  I've  a  handle  to  my  name,  when  I've  done  nothing 
to  deserve  it.  But  it's  not  wholly  to  the  point.  What  I 
want  you  to  see  is  that  I  can  give  my  wife  a  good  position 
—one  in  which  she'd  have,  within  reason,  brilliant 
opportunities." 

"I  can  quite  understand  that." 

"And,"  he  pursued,  not  wholly  with  ease,  "just  as  I 
like  to  feel  that  the  position  is  good  enough  for  her,  so 
I  want  to  be  sure  that— you  mustn't  think  me  fatuous 
m-  an  ass!— I'm  not  a  very  young  man  any  longer  and  my 
situation  as  head  of  the  family  obliges  me  to  think  of  it ! — 
so  I  want  to  be  sure— to  be  awfully  crude  and  put  it  into 
very  plain  language!— that  she's  good  enough  for  the 
position.    Do  you  see?" 

He  had  reddened  as  he  continued  to  speak,  though  Bain- 
bridge  was  too  deeply  interested  to  notice  it.    "Wouldn't 

that  depend  to  some  extent  on  what  you  mean  by  good  ? 

and  good  enough?" 

"What  does  any  one  mean?  I  suppose  I'm  thinking  of 
the  usual  thing." 

^   "The  usual  thing,"  Bainbridge  repeated,  ponderingly, 
"doesn't  take  us  very  far,  does  it?" 
3  aj 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


^   f«r  as   I  need 


*<*    80,   why   isn't 


"H  ifs 
enough?"  , . 

I '"saa  nothing  abstruse  or  far  frt^j,»^ 
the^dent^,  -«  -U  thegoTdS^S^"'-"°'"'°-  ^ 

-^what-^f?^P;'J^-this.  -natis., 
to  stand  by  her  as,  inX  Z^^  f  T^  ^  ^  °"ght 
*:^d  want  her  to  ^t^dty  ^  Jtl^r^*--"  ^ 

much  si^phfiSrlhe:  we^C;^  *^^f  ''«»--  very 
ornotn^ustbeforyoutodedL!;     ^«*«  y°>»  obey  it 

A^  the  banker  „«e=aowly  to  his  feet  he  said,  dryly 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

n  •  !j.     *  ^  ^"^  ^y  ^^  «Mon  as  that" 
Bambndge  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  head  against  th. 
o^on^garing  up  at  this  splendid  sanSf  oTXLSi 

woman  in  vam  seemed  scarcely  credible.    VaZlv^t 
c^e  back  to  Wm  that  his  veiled  visitor  b^d  c^«se5 

insisted.  ...  But  aloud  he  said   ouietlv  "Tu^      i 
you  change  your  mental  basis  I  ^    ';ej£lv^ 
you  won't  marrv  her— anrf  ti,=*  -t^  j     ^'        ^  "^* 

if  It  wasn't  true  you'd  teU  me." 
Bainbridge  answered  as  coldlv  and  ,~.i^i,.       i.- 

S^^C'^^^^^^"'^''^°"'^°°"«'>ttoLwan 

2^'LoS:e'=:^Ztr^irs---^^the 

^.^ere  was  always  a  glow.  be^^radiS"^  Se'alS^ 

anythmg  for  a  woman,  if  it's  of  the  right  sort-if  ^Z 
a; 


pff 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

enough  and  strong  enough  and  true  enoueh.    U  «« 
yourself  can  supply  that-"  ^^       "  ^^ 

di^"*k£dV^'"    ^ -"y '-«  -  i«^-J«^  of  the  or. 

or;rX'SS^  *°'^'*°^*^«^'^*--^^'^ 

The  Canadian  glared  at  the  speaker  of  these  worfs  as  a 

s^d^  '  ?f  ^^  ^'  ^  "«•«  °-  -ho  dares  to  with! 

^^^    .      "!  ""^  '^^"^'°°  °f  °»«^'  «  the  manner 
in  which  he  turned  away  and  strode  toward  the  hST^ 

stcS^wth  f  ■  T^^  ^"l"^"^  ^  ^^t  *°  the  f„,nt  door, 
^ood  with  his  hand  on  the  knob.    "  Unfortunately  I  cat^ 

You  re  in  a  place  m  which  a  nmn  must  act  entirely  for 
hmiself  I  would  only  beg  you  not  to  foiget  the  redLm^ 
mg  quahty  that  belongs  to  the  higher  iZi  of  L^ 

The  other  man  had  by  this  time  resumed  the  mamier 
toentiona^mtercourse.  'Tmafiaid  I  can'tg^^ 
the  fine  pomts."  he  said,  with  a  wistful  smile.    "If  I'm  Z 

ruUl^th^'lT^*"^""^----    All  tie  si? 
ZT"  "n^h      ""^^  r T  '^^■"    H«  held  out  hi 
land.       Good-by-and  thank  you.    If  we  ever  meet 

srirn.?"^^^^-^--^^'^^"^^^^^ 

door     that  If  I  should  find  you  married  I  shouktaVknow 

the  S^^'rw^t^^^'^he  began  to  descend 
me  steps.      I  had  foi^ottsn  that." 


CHAPTER  in 


/^NCE  more  the  curtain  was  rung  down  on  the  drama 
^^  of  which  Bainbridge  had  taken  part  in  but  two  small 
scenes.  Another  year  and  a  half  went  by,  bringing  him  to 
the  age  of  thirty-three,  before  he  was  obliged  to  recur  to  it. 

Once  more,  too,  the  pressure  of  small  happenings  had 
almost  crowded  both  incidents  from  his  memory.  He  did 
not,  of  course,  forget  the  coming  to  him  either  of  the 
veiled  woman  or  of  Sir  Malcohn  Grant,  but  he  forgot, 
partially,  what  they  had  told  him.  Many  people  were 
beginning  to  seek  him  with  their  confidences,  financial, 
domestic,  religious,  and  in  the  course  of  time  one  such 
event  melted  into  another.  He  made  no  notes,  as  a  doctor 
of  the  names  and  symptoms  of  his  patients,  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact  was  only  too  glad  to  let  the  details  of 
perplexity  and  care  pass  into  that  mental  limbo  which  was 
all  but  oblivion.  When  the  same  person  came  to  him  the 
second  time  he  was  generally  able  to  take  up  the  narrative 
where  it  had  been  dropped;  but,  as  a  rule,  one  man's 
troubles  pushed  another's  from  his  mmi\^  till  a  need 
arose  for  going  back  to  them. 

Malcolm  Grant  became  to  him,  therefore,  but  a  dim 
Herculean  Scotch-Canadian  with  whom  he  had  once  had 
a  few  minutes  of  intimate  talk.  At  long  intervals  he  saw 
his  name  in  the  papers,  as  being  at  one  or  another  of  the 
New  York  hotels,  or  as  the  head  of  a  house  taking  part  in 
29 


it1i# 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

some  lai^ge  enterprise  in  Canada,  Cuba,  or  SouLa  America. 
Once  or  twice,  in  conversation  with  Canadians  whom  he 
chanced  to  meet,  it  occurred  to  him  to  ask  if  the  baronet 
had  married,  but  he  repressed  the  inquiry  as  verging  too 
closely  on  mere  curiosity.  He  speculated  now  and  then 
on  what  might  have  happened  between  Grant  and  the 
woman  after  the  former  had  left  his  door;  but  as  far  as  he 
was  able  to  control  his  thoughts,  he  kept  himself  fromdoing 
even  that.  He  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  believe  that  a 
man  in  his  position  should  give  himself  wholly  for  the 
moment  to  the  sins  and  sorrows  that  were  being  aired, 
and  then  dismiss  all  recollection  of  them  from  his  mind. 
He  found  that  in  proportion  as  he  could  put  these  secrets 
away  till  it  became  necessary  to  take  them  up  again  he 
won  peace  for  himself  and  ease  of  manner  for  his  con- 
fidants, when  he  met  them  again. 

Finding  himself  useful,  he  saw  the  city  inwhich  he  labored 
with  more  and  more  sympathetic  eyes.  The  rush,  the 
din,  the  brutality  grew  incidental.  His  parish,  of  which 
he  was  assistant  rector,  became  a  little  world  in  itself,  in 
which  he  was  brought  into  contact  with  the  whole  round 
of  human  nature  in  epitome. 

If  yt>u  know  New  York  you  must  know  St.  Mary 
Magdalen's — the  quaint,  dumpy,  architecturally  mon- 
strous, sentinientally  attractive,  red-brick  church  with 
Doric  brownstone  portico,  between  Forty-seventh  and 
Forty-eighth  streets,  on  the  right-hand  side  as  you  go 
toward  the  Park.  Erected  in  the  days  when  there  was 
not  too  much  money  to  spend  on  it,  it  is  now  adorned  with 
costly  offerings  wherever  the  authorities  can  put  them. 
Its  bronze  doors  have  been  copied  from  those  of  the 
baptistry  in  Florence,  its  stained-glasi?  windows  from 
Chartres  and  Bourges,  its  choir-stalis  from  Lincoln, 
30 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


its  Teredos  from  Canterbury,  its  pulpit  from  Cologne. 
Merely  to  go  round  it  is  to  make  a  miniature  grand  tour. 
To  read  the  names  of  the  owners  of  the  pews,  inscribed 
on  little  brass-framed  cards  on  the  desks  for  books  of  de- 
votion, is  to  come  close  to  people  of  the  first  distinction. 
Something  of  their  personalities  seems  to  linger  in  these 
consecrated  seats,  though  they  themselves  may  be  as  far 
away  as  Deauville,  Lenox,  or  England.  Up  the  aisles 
have  marched  many  of  New  York's  most  historic  brides, 
now  wearing  coronets  and  adorning  ch&teaux  and  castles. 
The  vested  choir  is  the  best  and  most  expensive  in  the 
country;  the  organist  was  tempted  away  by  an  astonish- 
ing salary  from  a  work  he  liked  better  at  Wells.  All  that 
is  high-priced  and  handsome  is  provided  at  St.  Mary 
Magdalen's  and  offered  to  the  public  free  of  charge. 

Old  Doctor  Galloway,  the  rector,  had  been  responsible 
for  this  elaboration,  in  which  Bainbridge  tried  to  see  an 
instrument  ready  to  his  hand.  In  mere  ecclesiastical  dash 
and  splash  it  had  been  his  task  to  discover  a  soul,  and 
indeed  he  had  been  selected  for  that  purpose. 

"You  see,"  Doctor  Galloway  explained,  at  tlieir  first 
interview  in  Boston,  "  I'm  an  organizer.  Primarily  I'm  a 
man  of  business.  When  Mannering  left  and  I  succeeded 
him,  thirty-odd  years  ago,  there  was  a  good  deal  at  loose 
ends.  Now  everything's  shipshape,  and  we've  all  the 
money  we  want.  But  what  we  haven't  got  is  the  thing 
for  v^hich  this  well-equipped  institution  has  been  planned 
and  supported.  As  far  as  that  goes,  St.  Mary  Magdalen's 
is  a  barren  fig-tree.  New  York's  as  rich  a  field  for  it  as 
any  heathen  land,  and  yet  it's  out  of  my  line  to  give. 
You'd  find  me  as  much  in  need  of  it  as  any  one." 

Bainbridge,  who  was  then  but  twenty-nine,  looked  at  the  . 
leonine  white  head  in  dismay.    No  lieutenant  who  had 
31 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


^H*^  ^uJ^  to  c«ne  and  oonmumd  anamy 

n>an  replied.  What  I'm  looking  for  is  some  one  who'll 
gmw  up  to  the  work,  lo  that  by  the  time^:  ^^"^ ^t 
he  U  know  its  ins  and  outs.    You  can't-  hr,„„  I^^ 

Z^Zn'^Z^  1  ^  ^^^-  ^  VorTSi 
expect  hmi  to  find  the  methods  used  in  *»,=  «„      i 

adapted  to  the  needs  of  t^fZ.r^cT^u^^'Z 

country  is  not  national  so  muA  as  it's^     wT're^ 

^d"^""  °2"'\"''^°P^  "^-b^^'  «^  with  ite  L"l«" 
and  passwords^    New  York  has  them,  just  like  bSiTS 

tL^.rerSSyou^%-'S'^-'-- 

o.sc°MSi-?^^ts*-^:.-:rr 

5-g  m  parallel  lines,  each  superimposed"^  Z  TlZ 

Fust  there  was  the  original  bedixxJc  of  old  Ne^  S 
^.«^<«tly  of  g«at  wealth,  who  owned  the  SJ^J 
used  them  but  spasmodicaUy.    Above  them  w^  to  be 

fmmd  people  of  thesameantecedents  but  ofmoiTmodlS 
^.  Wee  the  Endsldghs.  the  Janx>tts.  .the  ^^l" 
and  the  Palhsers.  who  habitually  Uved  in  New  YorkTd 
^^  the  workings  of  the  parish  on  tClt^i^f 
Above  them,  but  independent  of  them  was  the  i™rif  ^ 

houses  whidi  durmg  ten  years  had  spnmg  up  between 
Forty-second  Street  and  the  southem™of  the  pTk 
AW  *^.  again,  numerous  enough  to  be'no^K^i 
the  variety  of  worshiper  that  only  America  could  f  ur^ 
who  attended  St.  Maiy  MagJen's  beSi^t  ^t 
32 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Fifth  Avenue  and  withii  its  walls  they  rubbed  elbows 
with  people  of  whom  otherwise  they  knew  nothing  but 
the  names  and  the  scendals.  On  the  s«irface  of  all  was 
the  mere  human  dust,  the  sight-seers,  the  passers  of  a 
month  or  a  day,  who,  finding  themselves  with  a  Stmday 
or  two  to  spend  in  New  York,  took  in  this  show  as  they 
took  in  other  shows,  coming  to  hear  the  music  and  watch 
the  great  people  at  prayer — and  seeing  chiefly  one  an- 
other. And  in  and  out  among  them  all,  a  few  from  one 
class  and  a  few  from  another,  were  scattered  those  kindly, 
honest,  and  consecrated  souls  who  stood  for  what  is  best 
in  human  life  and  made  all  the  effort  and  expense  worth 
while. 

To  his  vestry,  when  he  retiuTied,  he  spoke  of  the  yoimg 
man  as  no  abler  and  no  more  energetic  than  many  another 
young  man.  His  recommendation  was  that  he  had 
spiritual  i^  'sight;  he  had  that  endowment  without  which, 
in  the  ministry,  no  other  endowment  has  value,  of  com- 
mimicable  goodness,  '^^en  it  was  added  that  the  young 
fellow  was  of  clean,  sympathetic  appearance,  of  a  good 
Boston  family,  and  had  private  means,  it  seemed  to  the 
worthy  professional  and  business  men  who  governed  St. 
Mary  Magdalen's  that  they  had  discovered  the  teacher 
of  whom  they  were  in  need,  however  little  they  bound 
themselves  to  follow  his  example. 

All  that  having  been  four  years  earlier,  Bainbridge 
found  that  little  by  little  the  indications  given  him  were 
fulfilled,  and  had  been  able  to  "shake  down."  Dif- 
ficult as  the  latter  process  had  been,  he  had  lived  through 
it  with  success.  He  was  happy,  therefore,  in  his  work, 
while  the  appeal  which  people  of  all  kinds  and  characters 
made  to  him  for  counsel  established  that  conviction — 
illusoiy,  perhpps — of  being  essaitial  to  his  task,  which 
33 


\m  ^ 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


«*•«  for  enth-Miaam  in  fnlfiffinff  it  it 
thonmghly  content  when  aiwSli  "«  '^^  «ver 
or  that  woman's  OHw-T!!^*-  This  man's  ms 
P«tcity  having  S^,ri!?r"^T'^«^-  T^e 
but  the  s^all^TZ  "^"■'^  «  home  to  him, 
comic.  «xiU.  m^^^^d  e^LT  ^°^'  '««^<=' 

-^so^S::rroS^r^Sk-^-'-^- 

of  stumbling  to  every  semn^r^^  '*'=*"«  *  *t°ne 

way.  and  smfled  within™^  ^1?^  ^  '"  **  «^«^ 
tention  of  being  married^  ^'^  "°  "^^"ite  m- 

the  rector's  daufh^nf;h^r"  *°  ^"^  ^^"'"'^y. 
opinion  besto  JS  i^  Z^^  ~°^"^  "^  P-^'chial 
giris  he  knew.  ^'^  *^  '^'^  °^  °f  the  sweetest 

Her  smile  was  a^^L^  f^^r"'*  ''^  ''^  ^**«^- 
toward  Fifth  Aven  J     ^         interrupting  his  course 

-t  to  remind  IXt  ^1j^  »  «--«   "I  i-t 


talline ' 


-tto-r^r^X^^l/ff»^«   =^^i^^ 

^t^Srve^^BHrP--- 

it's  only  for  five  mSs^t  ^T      !°°''  '"  °"  ••«■•  ^ 
•^T-ingupK.rSrTliS^''^*'''^-    ^■'n 

^a^SgtTSfXt  ^it' wa^*  r ""■  *—  he  was 

-swaspr.bablyX;:;^.-^„f-^-^ 

34 


a/ 
i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

the  crisp  autumn  morning  had  given  her  a  color  for  which 
no  word  in  the  language  and  no  tint  in  the  painter'g 
palette  was  precisely  adequate.  She  must  now,  he 
reckoned,  be  twenty-six,  as  she  had  been  twenty-two 
the  year  of  his  coming  to  New  York.  In  refinement  she 
was  a  lady  to  the  finger-tips,  nor  did  she  lack  a  demure 
prettinees,  behind  which  there  was  a  dash  of  fiw.  She  had 
been  abroad  during  most  of  his  first  two  years  at  St.  Mary 
Magdalen's,  but  he  had  remarked  that  since  her  return  she 
had  adopted,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  a  policy  of  keep- 
ing out  of  sight.  That  this  withdrawal  had  anything 
to  do  with  himself  personally  it  had  never  occurred  to 
him  to  think,  nor  did  it  so  ocaur  now.  It  only  led  him 
to  say,  after  glancing  at  his  engagement-book  and  promis- 
ing to  look  in  at  Miss  Higgins's,  "Where  have  you  been 
this  long  time  and  why  does  one  never  see  you?" 

Her  answer  was  delivered  with  a  scornful  little  smile 
and  a  toss  of  the  head  which  might  have  been  a  mask  for 
shyness  rather  than  an  expression  of  disdain.  "That 
depends  on  whom  you  mean  by  one.  Some  people  see 
me." 

"I  never  do — or  rarely." 

"That's  because  you're  not  in  the  places  where  I  am. 
But  I  assure  you  I  don't  become  invisible." 

"Then  I  shall  count  on  you  to  look  after  me  at  Miss 
Higgins's  this  afternoon,"  he  called  after  her,  as  she  ran 
up  the  steps. 

"Oh,  poor  Miss  HigginsI"  she  threw  over  her  shoulder. 
"If  you'll  only  ccsne  I'll  do  anything." 

And  yet  when  he  arrived  at  Miss  Higgins's  apartment, 

in   a   small  residential  hotel  between  Fifth  and  Sxtb 

avenues,  Mary  Galloway  didn't  give  him  so  much  as  a 

glance.    Helping  the  hostess,  serving  tea,  introducing 

35 


1*1 


I!  r 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

guette,  moving  hither  and  yon  through  the  crowded  tiny 
parior,  m  which  it  was  difficult  to  stir  or  to  breathe,  she 
seemed  unaware  that  he  was  in  the  room.  Miss  Higgins 
herself,  a  taU,  gaunt  woman,  suggesting  an  ostrich  meta- 
morphosed  mto  human  form,  was  so  arch  as  to  mention 
her  m  the  act  of  shaking  hands  with  him. 

"Oh,Mr.Bainbridge!    So  flattered,  I'm  sure!    So  good 
of  you  to  have  come!    And  Mary  wiU  be  so  pleased 
She  s  helped  me  so  much  that  it's  really  her  party  more 
than  mme.    So  sweet,  she  is.    You  can  see  her  now 
talkmg  to  old  Mrs.  Colfax-just  there-with  the  oUve- 
green  hat.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Jarrott?    So 
flattered,  I'm  sure.    So  good  of  you  to  have  come!    Mrs 
Jarrott,  do  you  know  Mr.  Bainbridge?  ...  Oh  how  do 
you  do,  Mrs.  Palliser?    So  flattered,  I'm  sure,   'so  good 
of  you  to  have  come.    Mrs.  Palliser,  do  you  know  Mr 
Bambndge?  .  .  .  Oh,how  do  you  do, Mrs. Mortimer.  .     " 
With  the  mechanical  repetition  of  a  doU  wound  up  to 
say  so  many  words  and  make  so  many  smiling  grimaces 
Miss  Higgins  went  on  with  the  task  of  welcoming  her 
guests,   whUe  Bainbridge  found  himself  slowly  swirled 
away,  hke  a  plum  in  a  boiling  pudding,  in  company  with 
the  woman  he  knew  best  in  New  York. 

"So  you're  here!"  Mrs.  Palliser  gasped.  "Well,  for 
pitys  sake!  More  of  Mary's  doings,  I  suppose.  If  she 
hadn  t  dragged  me  in  by  the  hair  of  my  head  Miss  Hig- 
gins wouldn't  have  seen  so  much  as  my  shadow  The 
people  look  like  job  lots  at  an  auction,"  she  whispered 
Do  come  over  into  that  comer  with  the  httle  red  sofa 
behmd  the  pahns,  and  let  us  sit  down." 

Ben^th  the  high  yapping  of  voices,  which,  if  you 

listened  to  it  consciously,  became  persistent,  pitiless,  and 

mfemal.  Mrs.  Palliser  could  make  herself  heard  by  soeak- 

36  *^ 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

ing  in  a  low  and  perfectly  natuial  tone.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Charlie  Endsleigh,  a  pioneer  in  developing  the 
upper  reaches  of  Fifth  Avenue,  from  whom  she  had  in- 
herited her  not  inconsiderable  fortune.  As  an  Endsleigh 
she  was  related  to  the  Colfaxes,  the  Jarrotts,  and  the 
Wrenns,  which  placed  her  in  that  circle  in  New  York 
identified  with  religion,  education,  and  philanthropy. 
The  fact  posed  her  solidly  on  ground  on  which  she  had 
authority.  Authority  was  written  on  her  face  and 
figure,  and  translated  in  her  manners  and  her  tone  of 
voice.  She  was  invariably  mentioned  as  a  fine-looking 
woman,  being  tall  and  statuesque,  with  fairly  good 
features  and  a  slight  inclination  to  be  florid.  Moreover, 
she  was  breezy,  high-ten^jered,  and  imperious.  She  was 
outspoken,  too,  with  the  frankness  of  one  who  has  a  right 
to  express  her  opinion. 

Bainbridge  listened  with  amusement  as  from  the 
vantage-point  of  the  sofa  in  the  comer  she  denounced  the 
company. 

"In  all  my  life  I've  never  looked  at  such  a  crew.  There 
are  not  more  than  six  people  whom  I  know — ^whom  any- 
body knows — and  the  six  are  my  own  relations.  Why, 
Mary  Galloway  should  have  got  us  here  I  can't  imagine 
to  save  my  soul.  Why  should  any  one  be  here?  and  why 
should  a  person  like  Miss  Higgins  want  to  give  a  party? 
Can't  the  good  woman  see  that  her  very  existence  is 
matter  of  easy-going  social  tolerance,  and  keep  herself 
to  the  backgrotmd  where  she  belongs?" 

On  a  question  or  two  from  Bainbridge,  who  knew 
Miss  Higgins  only  as  a  figure  flitting  in  and  out  of  St. 
Mary  Magdalen's,  especially  at  important  weddings  and 
funerals,  Mrs.  Palliser  accounted  for  her  hostess  with  some 
detail.  The  clergyman  listened,  for  the  reason  that  he 
37 


I 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


found  it  profitable  to  know  aU  he  «..m  i 

each  of  his  parishion«r3*i.    .      ^^  '**«  «*«« 

r«ip.    For  ^  M^  HiS^*  '^^  *««>tion  to 

a  footing  in  New  York     fl  Z.^T'  ™**"'  *°  '"ep 

being.  like  any  oZ^^^SnlSgtir.'  "^ 
caresandheartaches.towhSS^^'*'^  "^^ 
possibly  be  useful.  ^^       *™*  occasion 

Miss  Higgins,  according  to  Mr-j    Poll-  „   v  ^ 
««lly  been  "in  sodetv  "  but  ff      u^'  '^  °^« 
been  out  of  it.    ^1^  if^^^\?*^ '^^^  «^y 
which  every  one  to  whto  Zl.  „^  «>«gs-things  to 
honies.    No  one  kn^w^ wC^ *"^«^ "^ ^ 
Higgins  beyond  the  fL^t  J^V"^  "'^^  *°  ^iss 
geneiaUyiavited     It^,^u       ^  *  °«»sions  she  was 
too  far  to  g^^  to  Si  J^r!,*^  **^  the  memory 
when  old  pfLSi  w"^"^  f  *■*  °^<^'"«  ^hZ 
subsid^r!^e^^'*,««'«"'l^e  atidal  wave,  had 
Higgins  landi  a^d  L^d**  ^  t."'^;  '^^^  ^- 
shore  she  had  remained^fTi^u-"'*  *°^-    ^  the 
-ever  sUppin,  SS;  ^^t^*"^  "P  ^ '-^- b"t 

con£urto"e^S*!f^?n^';^-  her."  M..  PalHser 
her.  in  the  way  Wre  J^^  S^l*'^  '*  ^  *°  ^'°8 
at  certain  hou^  of  tt7<Sf  ^e^^  "^  '*^°'" 
d«wing-„K»ns  as  inoff^iS^y  iV^Z^^f  °"*  °^ 

standing  in  comer<!  an/i  ,4„-  i  •  ■'^  "  "  "  "nd  her 

but  the  poor^^o^l'^Sf^  uncountable  cups  of  tea. 

anenemVSron?^    ^°'"''*^'*°5'bar«andmaS 

"Not  even  of  you?"  Bainbridge  smiled 

38 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Good  gracious,  no!  Why  should  I  be  her  enemy? 
You  might  as  well  be  the  enemy  of  a  sheep." 

He  remembered  these  wortls  and  this  tone  when,  ni6t 
long  afterward,  he  learned  that  Miss  Higgins  was  a 
power  in  New  York,  and  toyed  with  love  and  destiny  as 
if  she  was  one  of  the  three  Fates. 

But  Mrs.  PaUiser  had  already  had  enough  of  a  subject 
which  she  r^arded  as  tiresome.  Without  preamble  or 
transition  she  went  on  abruptly  to  say,  "Isn't  Mary  too 
sweet  for  anything?"  Before  Bainbridge  could  agree 
with  her  she  added,  "Why  on  earth  don't  you  marry 
her?" 

He  laughed  good-naturedly.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  attacked  him  thus,  though  perhaps  never  so 
directly  from  the  front.  After  all,  she  was  the  one 
woman  in  New  York  who  could  take  this  liberty,  for  she 
and  her  husband  had  had  him  tmder  their  wing  ever 
since  his  early  days  at  St.  Mary  Magdalen's.  Being  a 
few  years  older  than  he,  they  had  been  able  to  act  as 
social  counselors  and  guides  to  the  young  Bostonian  with- 
out losing  the  fellowship  of  contemporaneous  sympathies. 
He  came  to  be  at  ease  with  them,  to  be  able  to  unbend 
in  their  company  as  he  never  did  elsewhere.  As  time 
went  on  Mrs.  Palliser  began  to  throw  a  motherly  eye  over 
his  bachelor  establishment,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Wedlock 
cleaned  it  in  the  proper  way  on  the  proper  occasions 
and  gave  him  proper  food  to  eat.  For  this  he  was  grateful 
for  the  motive  rather  than  for  the  result,  while  the  ties 
of  intimacy  were  strene^ened. 

As  for  the  present  question,  his  instinct  was  to  hedge 

rather  than  to  face  it  openly.    "  Isn't  marriage  a  matter 

to  be  tackled  from  the  positive  rather  than  the  negative 

pointofview?    If  you  go  round  asking  every  one  wby  they 

39 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


don't  ina^wme  one  else,  who  know.  wh«  ^H  o«ne, 

^e  answered  j^Me  taking  a  cup  of  tea  &om  a  neat  little 
maid  who  passed  It  on  a  tray.  "My  dear  good  mw! 
whe«Icomeoutismyownafiair.  I  can  t^oTS 
fni^a  you  could  do  the  san«  for  your^."  ** 

I  should  like  to  be  allowed  to  n«ke  the  attempt- 
to  JS„^  I^J!''''^  ^  "^ '^^P-  When  it  comes 
to  manage  a  man  hke  you  is  as  fit  to  teke  ca«  of  iS 
H  th/^L^*  ^^  *°  ^^'^  the  traffic  in  Bio^T 
K  the  nght  woman  doesn't  get  you  the  wrong  ^^1 
and  that  you  can  take  from  me  "  "«  «w  wiu, 

"I'm  willing  to  take  anything  from  you,  as  I'm  sure  you 
n««t  W    But  may  I  ask  if  you  see  any  signsTi^ 
It  s  not  a  question  of  what  I  see  signs  of;  it  Wy  one 
rfwhat  happens.    The  longer  I  know  you're  going  ^ 
Jo«we  the  more  wretched  it  makes  me.''  ^^ 

Jli^'.l^'  ^°"'™°*'^  to  many  for  your  peace  of 
^"an^r^T;-?^  ^  '''-  -^  "^^ 
thlVriSfto^^^-^^-^-'-^er 

^eU.  then.  I'U  let  you  know  the  minute  I  feel  in 

dnZ?**^*^'**'^5'«°«*-    Nine  times  out  Of  ten  a 
drownmg  man  doesn't  know  he's  drowning  tiU  it's  too  Ut^ 

"Ah,  but  could  I?" 

blJZ'^^^^'u^*^    I  don't  say  she's  breaking  her 

S5r',°!L^'!^--'^''^'"    Shen^e^wTTsiJ 
while  he  placed  her  empty  cup  on  a  near-by  table     "  Tf 

ahe  won't  do  I  shaU  have  to  fi^d  some^  SelSo  will  " 
40 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"Please  don't  let  me  put  yoa  to  any  trouble." 

"You  put  me  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble;  but  it's  nothing 
to  what  I'm  willing  to  take  for  you.  Now  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  I  do  know  a  woman  who  might  care  to  Uxk  you 
over." 

"Oh,  but  I  might  balk  at  that." 

"Since  you're  bound  to  be  some  woman's  prey  a  good 
one  might  as  well  have  the  refusal  of  you— even  if  she 
turns  you  down." 

"But  you  won't  let  her  take  me  by  surprise?" 

"She  won't  take  you  by  surprise,  because  yoi  won't 
know  anything  about  her.  She'll  come  and  go  without 
your  seeing  that  she's  been  there.  If  I  don't  get  out  of 
this  rat-trap,"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
him,  "  I  shall  smother.  Good-by.  Think  over  what  I've 
been  saying,  and  don't  forget  the  twenty-ninth." 

He  looked  blank.    "The  twenty-ninth?" 

"Don't  tdl  me  you've  forgotten  that  you're  going  to 
dine  with  us  that  night.  If  you  have,  then  all  is  over 
between  you  and  me.  Bttt  I  give  you  the  benefit  erf  the 
doubt  and  leave  you.  Go  and  tell  Mary  that  I  shall 
never  forgive  her  for  bringing  me  to  this  ridiculous  zoo." 

Through  the  seething  of  the  human  whirlpool  he  made 
his  way  toward  Mary  Galloway.  "Is  this  the  way  you 
look  after  me?"  he  asked.  "Don't  you  remember  what 
you  promised  to  do  if  I  came?" 

When  his  words  brought  a  new  shade  of  color  to  her 
cheek  he  thought  he  had  never  seeff  anything  so  exquisite. 
Nevertheless,  she  tossed  her  head  with  that  air  of  disdain 
which  might  have  been  no  more  than  a  covering  for  shy- 
ness as  she  said,  "I  saw  you  were  very  well  protected." 

"Did  you?  But  there  are  times  when  a  man  doesn't 
need  protection  so  much  as  sympathy." 

«  41 


r 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"Was  tUt  ooeT" 

^UK«ght  o€  wto  Mb.  Pall«r  had  been  «ying  and 

laai^ed.      I  aW  think  it  was-if  righUy  tmderetood." 

^.J~,^Zr*}.  °*»"  y«»  <*e  sympathy  I  must  have  the 
nght  ttndenrtaading." 

"Ah.  that's  not  so  easy,"  he  was  able  to  say  before  a 
new  revotafaon  in  the  crowd  carried  him  away  from  her 
and  he  turned  to  take  leave  of  his  hostess. 

But  he  was  asking  himself  if,  after  aU,  Mrs.  Pailiser 
might  not  be  right.  He  was  not  in  love  with  Mary 
GaUoway-not  as  yet-but  if  he  could  be-and  he  evw 
meant  to  marry  at  all.  .  .  . 

He  was  in  the  gloomy  Httle  outside  hall,  waiting  far  the 
^^:".  "'^^^  °'*'°"«  **«  reflections,  but  he  was 
desfaned  not  to  pursue  them.  The  lift  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  withm  Its  grille  and  the  door  was  slid  open. 

The  nwt  two  minutes  remained  in  Bainbridge's  mind 

as  a  penod  of  unpressions  so  rapid,  so  sharp,  and  so  definite 
as  to  obliterate  the  sense  of  time  and  make  him  feel  that 
he  had  hved  through  an  experience. 

A  woman  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  lift's  Kttle  wd- 
cushioned  bench  rose  and  made  the  one  step  necessary 
toreach  the  door.  She  was  a  taU,  slender  woman,  richly 
oressed.  Dark-brown  phones  and  velvet,  against  which 
a  TOW  of  great  pearis  caught  the  eye  strikingly,  were  but 
detadsm  a  picture  vividly  imprinted  on  his  mind  as  one 
t^^^;^'^^^  ^<^o^  His  memory  would  have 
recorded  it  if  she  had  merely  passed  him  in  the  street- 
but.  as  It  was.  what  happened  within  the  next  few  second^ 
oiMBed  It  m  as  something  he  could  not  forget 

On  tile  threshold  of  the  lift,  before  she  had  stepped  out 
of  it^  the  woman  raised  her  eyes,  which  he  could  see  were 
dark  and  cnnously  deep-started-drew  back-turned 
4* 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

aa  H  lookmg  for  aotnethiiig  ahe  bad  kft  or  seeldngr  another 
odt  from  the  cage  in  whidi  ahe  found  herself  caught — 
tamed  again — confronted  him  with  a  quick,  piteous  glance 
— stepped  out  and  passed  onward,  with  a  sli^t  inclination 
of  a  stately  head  as  he  raised  his  hat.  Miss  Higgins's 
man  in  livery,  engaged  for  the  afternoon,  having  opened 
the  door,  she  disappeared  swiftly  within,  leaving  Bain- 
bridge  staring  after. 

"Going  down,  sir,"  the  lift-boy  was  <*(Hged  to  remind 
him  before  he  could  sufficiently  collect  his  wits  to  enter 
and  descend. 


r 


CHAPTER  IV 


DUT  on  the  twenty-ninth  Bainbridge  saw  this  woman 
U  for  the  second  time.  Indeed,  he  found  himself  sitting 
beside  her  without  realizing  for  the  first  half-hour  who 
she  was. 

It  was  a  large  party,  made  up  chiefly  of  people  whom  he 
didn't  know,  and  he  had  arrived  too  late  to  be  introduced 
toanyone.  From  the  card  handed  to  him  by  the  footman 
he  understood  that  he  was  to  take  in  Mary  Galloway, 
and  after  having  saluted  Leslie  and  Maggie  Palliser,  his 
host  and  hostess,  he  sought  her  out.  Dinner  being  an- 
nounced at  once,  he  had  no  opportunity  to  look  about 
him  till  he  was  seated  at  the  table. 

Even  then  he  was  absorbed  by  his  little  neighbor  on 
the  light.  She  was  touchingly  lovely,  he  thought,  in 
white  without  an  ornament,  and  with  only  a  swaying 
girdle  of  rose-pink  to  reflect  the  carmine  in  her  cheeks. 
He  was  glad  to  have  her  there,  glad  to  be  beside  her. 
During  his  years  of  dining  out  in  New  York  this  precise 
situation  had  never  arisen  before.  It  was  an  opportunity 
to  know  her  better,  to  overcome  the  defensive  of  hostility 
or  scorn  she  put  up  nervously  whenever  he  approached  her. 
_  "I  haven't  seen  you  since  the  afternoon  at  Miss  Hig- 
gins's,"  he  b^iaa,  as  he  unfolded  his  napkin.  "If  num- 
bers mean  anything  you  made  her  party  a  success." 

The  crystalline  tinkle  in  her  voice  penetrated  the  up- 
44 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

roar,  wUch  in  nn  American  gathering  begins  with  the 
moment  of  sitting  down  to  table,  with  the  clear  sound  of 
a  silver  bell.    "I  dare  say  it  wasn't  worth  doing,  but— " 

"On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  well  worth  doing. 
You  made  her  happy — " 

"Yes,  but  happy  only  in  the  way  of  seeing  well-known 
people  in  her  little  parlor." 

"  But  she  was  happy  just  the  same.  That's  something, 
isn't  it?" 

She  trifled  with  her  caviar.  "Yes,  it's  something; 
it's  what  most  people  call  snobbery." 

"And  what  do  you  call  it?" 

"Oh,  snobbery,  too." 

"And  yet  you  helped  her  out." 

"Because  I  couldn't  see  what  else  to  do." 

"Exactly;  we've  got  to  take  people  as  they  are — with 
their  limitations.  If  having  well-known  people  in  her 
parlor  is  the  best  thing  Miss  Higgins  knows,  let  us  help 
her  get  it — ^till  she  sees  that  it  isn't  worth  while  and 
makes  a  try  at  something  better." 

She  lifted  to  him  eyes  that,  in  spite  of  being  soft  and 
shy,  had  a  sparkle  of  fun  in  them.  "I'm  surprised  to 
hear  you  speak  like  that.  I  should  have  supposed  that 
snobbishness  would  be  one  of  the  things  you'd  be  hard 
on." 

"If  one  is  out  for  big  game  one  can't  let  oneself  be 
worried  by  a  fly.  Snobbishness  is  not  a  crime;  it's  a 
weakness — ^like  a  cast  in  the  eye  or  a  stutter.  I  don't 
know  anything  that  will  get  the  better  of  it  more  quickly 
than  toleration  and  giving  it  what  it  wants." 

So  they  talked  on  through  the  fiist  few  courses  of  dinner, 
while  the  defiance  of  her  manner  melted,  and  he  himself 
wondered  more  and  more  if  Maggie  Palliser  might  not 
45 


r 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

be  rig^t  He  oooM  eaafly  imagine  hinisdf  in  love  with 
Maiy  GaUawy.  He  could  imagine  tlieiT  marriage.  He 
could  fomee  the  whole  housekeeping  prooeaa  as  one  of 
ease  and  delight,  while  her  aid  is  the  social  side  of  the 
woridng  of  a  parish  would  be  that  of  a  second  in  com- 
mand no  less  channing  than  efficient.  She  knew  that 
aspect  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen's  better  than  he  did  himself, 
and  after  all  the  kindness  that  Doctor  and  Mrs.  GaUoway 
had  shown  him,  nothing  would  be  more  fitting  than  that 
be  should  become  their  son-in-law — if  he  only  could. 

If  he  only  could  I  More  than  once  he  repeaved  the  words 
to  himself  as  they  talked  of  literature,  society,  and  ethics, 
and  he  noticed  how  responsive  she  was  to  his  points. 
It  was  the  kind  of  responsiveness  a  man  likes  in  a  wife, 
with  enough  opposition  to  act  as  a  whetstone  to  discus- 
sion and  a  fluttering  common  sense  in  yielding  to  con- 
viction. It  was  supplementary,  too,  with  a  pttjmise  of 
that  sex-combinaticn  which  in  his  opinion  should  take  the 
place  of  the  sex-competition  of  modem  argument  and 
conflict.  If  he  only  could!— «nd,  he  rtfected,  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  shouldn't.  Time  would  accomplish  it, 
and  propinquity.  Jt  was  notorious  that  time  and  pro- 
pinquity were  the  determining  factors  in  nine  marriages 
out  of  ten.  They  were  the  product  of  hazards  and 
sympathies.  Between  Mary  Galloway  and  himself  there 
might  easily  be  more  than  these— if  he  would  have  pa- 
tience and  wait. 

He  found  it  pleasant  to  meditate  thus,  as  the  talk 
played  back  and  forth  over  ethics,  society,  and  literature, 
with  occasional  illustrations  drawn  from  Miss  Higgins's 
reception.  At  one  such  reference  he  had  a  sudden  recol- 
lection, leading  him  to  begin  with, "  Oh,  and  by  the  way^" 
going  on  to  ask  if  sl>e  could  tell  him  the  name  of  a  lady  of 
46 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

nmailcable  dictinctioa  who  had  entered  Mils  Higgiiis's 
apartment  just  as  he  himsdf  had  come  away  from  it. 
Miss  Galloway  reflected,  mentioning  first  one  and  then 
another,  eadi  of  whom  he  set  aside  in  turn  as  already 
a  personal  acquaintance.  It  was  not  till  he  described  the 
oostume — ^the  dark-brown  velvet,  the  dark-brown  plumes, 
shading,  as  he  remembered  them,  into  green  at  the  tips, 
with  a  green  lining  to  the  coat  that  fell  slightly  open  as  she 
moved — it  was  not  till  then  that  Miss  Galloway  nodded 
and  said,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Why,  that  was  Mr?.  Gildersleeve.  Don't  you  know 
her?  How  strange!  She's  just  come  back  froca  abroad. 
She's — she's  sitting  next  to  you." 

Bainbridge  remembered  afterward  that  his  feeling  was 
like  that  of  the  spectator  of  a  play  at  the  moment  when  the 
outer  asbestos  curtain  begins  to  rise.  The  time  of  sitting 
and  doing  nothing  was  coming  to  an  end.  There  was  a 
sense  of  ap{»oaching  drama  in  the  mental  air.  In  the 
action  he  would  have  a  part,  if  only  that  of  an  impassioned 
looker-on. 

"She's  a  great  friend  of  Maggie's,"  Miss  Galloway  con- 
tinued to  whisper,  "and  I  believe  a  kind  of  cousin.  When 
I  have  an  opportunity  I'll  introduce  you." 

He  turned  slightly,  getting  a  glimpse  of  a  thin,  graceful 
arm  resting  lightly  on  the  table,  with  emeralds  and 
diamonds  in  the  bracelet  on  the  wrist,  and  emeralds  and 
diamonds  in  the  rings  on  the  fingers  of  a  slender  white 
hand.  The  dress  was  of  green  and  silver,  in  which  there 
were  shadows  and  shimmerings  as  in  a  woodland  summer 
lake,  while  more  emeralds  and  diamonds  starred  the  chain 
that  hung  round  the  slim  neck  and  descended  below  the 
d&x>lletage.  The  dark  hair  was  worn  in  a  knot  of  the 
simpleet  fashicm,  but  a  comb  with  an  edge  of  diamonds 
47 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

row  with  a  rim  Uke  a  tiara.  What  he  noticed  in  par* 
ticular  was  the  decided  manner  in  which  she  turned  to 
Endsleigh  Jarrott,  as  if  anxious  to  ignore  himself. 

"But  she'U  have  to  speak  to  me  soon,"  he  reflected, 
when  Mary  Galloway  had  been  claimed  by  Reginald 
Pole,  who  sat  on  her  right.  With  the  fixed  rule  of  dinnerw 
party  etiquette  to  support  him.  he  knew  he  could  afford 
to  wait. 

But  she  took  no  notice  of  his  silence  and  isolation. 
All  round  the  brilliant  oval  of  flowers  and  lights,  of  pon»- 
lain  and  glass  and  silver,  about  which  twenty  persons  were 
seated,  there  was  eagerness  and  animation,  while  he  was 
excluded  from  intercourse  on  either  side.  Once  or  twice 
Mary  Galloway  endeavored  to  draw  him  into  the  con- 
versation between  Reggie  Pole  and  herself,  but  with 
little  success.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  preferred  to  sit 
waiting  and  dumb  wh^e  his  eyes  sought  the  curve  of  the 
shoulder  so  persistently  turned  away,  and  the  line  which 
was  all  he  could  see  of  the  carefully  averted  cheek. 

But  his  reward  came  at  last.  With  a  sudden  lull  in  the 
talk  Endsleigh  Jarrott  spoke  to  the  lady  on  his  left,  so 
that  the  face  of  which  Bainhridge  had  not  yet  obtained 
a  glimpse  moved  slowly  into  profile.  It  was  a  pure  pro- 
file, high-bred  and  delicate,  with  the  hair  simply  parted 
in  the  middle,  waving  over  and  away  from  the  brows. 
Nevertheless,  she  continued  to  ignore  him  by  smiling 
across  the  table  and  exchanging  remarks  with  Harvey 
Colfax  and  Mary  P  'e,  who  sat  opposite;  but  Misa 
Galloway  was  watching  for  her  chance. 

"Clorinda,  I  want  you  to  know  Mr.  Bainbridge.  He's 
a  great  friend  of  Maggie's  and  Leslie's." 

Slowly,  reluctantly,  and  under  compulsion  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him.    He  remembered  afterward  that  her 
,48 


4 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

MipiMrioo  was  as  fuU  of  undeci(dwrBble  meanings  as  a 
page  of  a  book  printed  in  an  unknown  tongue. 

"So  we've  met  at  last,"  he  said,  easily. 

"Yes,  at  last,"  she  echoed.  "I  suppose  it  had  to  happen 
■one  time." 

"The  wolider  is  that  it  wasn't  long  ago." 

Her  reply  was  faint.    "Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"Leslie  and  Maggie  speak  of  you  so  often,"  he  laughed, 

"that  I'd  b^fun  to  think  of  you  as  a  fictitious  character 

a  sort  of  invisible  companion  such  as  children  talk  about." 

The  shadow  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  him  like  that  which 
comes  across  a  pool  when  a  cloud  passes  overhead.  "  I've 
been  a  good  deal  abroad."  She  added,  before  he  could 
respond  to  this,  "I  shouldn't  have  come  home  now  if 
war  hadn't  broken  out." 

"Do  you  like  it  so  much  over  there?" 

"It  isn't  altogether  a  matter  of  liking.  I've— Fve 
other  things  to  think  of.  Besides,  I've  lived  so  much  in 
England  and  Prance  that  I'm  at  heme  in  those  countries 
—and  in  Italy." 

"But  more  at  home  here?" 

She  evaded  this  question.  "If  I  had  been  able  to  do 
any  good  I  should  have  stayed  in  Paris.  I  wanted  to. 
It  was  dreadful  to  be  told  by  every  one  that  there  was 
nothing  I  could  do,  when  so  much  needed  to  be  done  - 
and  to  know  they  were  right" 

"Why  were  they  right?" 

"For  the  reason  they  gave— that  there  was  nothing  I 
could  do.  I  couldn't  nurse  or  sew  or  undertake  anything 
that  some  one  else  wouldn't  have  done  better."  Hfir 
voice  became  both  eager  and  wistful,  as  she  went  on, 
"Tell  me,  how  do  people  set  about  doing  good?" 

He  was  so  absorbed  in  noting  that  quality  in  her  face 
49 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

which  WM  either  txptrieact  or  aomiw  that  he  mold 
have  made  soma  atupid  p^  if  the  mt^ject  hadn't  bete 
one  he  had  long  ago  thooc^t  out.    "By  Uving,"  he 
answered,  mcdianically,  as  he  helped  hinuelf  to  some, 
thing,  while  scarcely  taldng  his  eyes  from  hen.    "I  don't 
Icnow  that  there  is  any  other  way." 
"I  don't  think  you  understand  me—" 
"Oh  yes,  I  do.    But  people  don't  start  out  to  do  good  as 
they  might  to  take  singing-lessons  or  do  parlor  tricks. 
You  can't  say  I'll  do  good  from  ten  to  twelve  on  Tuesday 
and  from  two  to  four  on  Friday.    Fundamentally,  it  isn't 
a  question  of  how  we  act,  but  of  what  we  aw." 
"Yes,  that's  like  what  you  said  before—" 
"Before?    When?"  he  asked,  quickly. 
She  recovered  herself  without  much  display  cf  coafu- 
sion.    "I've  heard  you  preach— not  often— but  a  few 
times.    You  said  something  like  it  then." 

"Did  I?  Very  likely.  I  feel  rather  strongly  that  it's 
something  we  should  all  understand— and  tb^  veiy  few 
of  us  do." 

The  inclination  of  her  head  reminded  him  of  nothing 
so  much  as  that  of  a  lily  on  its  stalk.  "And  yet  it  seems 
to  me  that  if  you  pushed  that  theory  far  enough  you'd 
ptrt  an  end  to  all  the  good  work  that's  being  dome  in  the 
way  of  social  service — " 

He  laus^ed.  "Social  service,  as  it's  called,  doesn't 
often  amount  to  much— at  least  a  large  part  of  it.  It's 
restless  and  mechanical  and  not  thorough.  I'm  afraid 
it's  no  more  than  a  fad  of  the  day  that  will  go  out  of 
fashion  like  other  fads.  I've  nothing  against  it,  further 
than  that,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  it  ranks  with  the 
attempt  to  grow  plants  by  electric  Ugbt  instead  of  in  the 
sundiine." 

SO 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Thea  «4iat  am  one  do  for  othen— ?" 

"Nothing  thAt  one  han't  done  flnt  of  all  for  ooewU— 
or  tried  to  do.  A  man  caa't  love  another  as  himaelf  untfl 
he  has  first  c(  all  learned  to  love  himself;  and  he  doesn't 
love  himself  tmtil  he  has  begun  to  moke  of  him— if  the 
best  thing  possible." 

"  In  that  case  very  few  people  wotild  love  themselve»— " 

"Very  few  people  do.  What  we  so  often  put  down  as 
sdf-love  is  self-hati*d,  in  ite  strict  analysis.  Rightly  to 
love  ourselves  is  a  beautiful  thing  which  leads  to  our 
rightly  loving  others.  My  point  is  that  we  can't  ri^tly 
love  others  till  we  know  how  rightly  to  love  ourselves." 

"So  that  you'd  say  that  the  reason  viby  I'm  so  useless 
is  that—" 

"No;  wait,"  he  laughed.  "I  dco't  my  yoa'n  use- 
less-" 

"But  it's  what  I'm  telling  you." 

"And  I  don't  necessarily  agree.  It  doesn't  follow  that 
because  you  couldn't  do  war  work  yoa  can't  do  anything 
at  aU." 

"ThenwAofcanldo?" 

"You  can  hardly  eitpect  me  to  tdl  yon  that  without 
knowing  you  better.  I'm  speaking  to  yon  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life — " 

She  interrupted,  hastily:  "If  you  could  only;J»«f  swne- 
thing  for  me  t(^  do — either  in  your  church  or  elsewhere!" 

"I've  never  seen  that  there  was  much  good  in  that  sort 
of  thing.  Believe  me,  the  rally  enduring  and  useful  work 
is  what  one  does  for  oneself— in  its  ertension  outward. 
When  you've  got  yourself  ready  you  won't  have  to  look 
far  to  find  an  opportunity;  but  you've  got  to  get  yooisdf 
ready  first.  Generally  speaking,  I  think,  we  turn  our- 
sdves  oa  to  o&er  peogSs's  needs  because  we  don't  want 
SI 


It-. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

to  tadde  our  own;  and  yrbm  we're  driven  to  see  tiie 
futaty  of  t!»t  ojurse  WB  give  tip  trying  to  do  anything." 
"And  yet  my  M*ole  object  is  not  to  think  of  myself 
at  all.  If  I  could  onfy  forget  myself—" 
V  "i^?**"*  "*''*  as  wen  try  to  forget  the  ground,  or  a 
bird  the  air.  Oneself  is  the  most  interesting  of  all  sub- 
jecte-and  one  of  the  most  Intimate.  We  can  get  away 
bom  everything  but  that;  and  since  we  can't  get  away 
from  It,  isn't  it  wise  to  make  the  best  and  the  most  of 

It  I 

He  was  sony  that  just  at  this  minute  Endsleigh  Jar- 
rott's  good-natured  red  face  could  be  seen  peeping  round 
her  shoulder,  with  the  question  as  to  whether  Mrs 
Gildersleeve  had  heard  what  had  happened  to  his  big 
machme  when  driven  by  a  dnmken  chauflEeur  Bain- 
bndge  listened  to  part  of  this  adventure  in  the  hope  of 
recapturing  his  companion,  but  as  the  minutes  went  by 
without  any  such  result  he  found  himself  forced  back 
again  on  the  society  of  Miss  Galloway.  With  a  pang  he 
recorded  the  fact  that  his  feeling  at  the  change  was  like 
that  of  a  man  who  returns  to  the  humdrum  of  home  after 
a  strange  and  exciting  journey. 

During  the  rest  of  dinner  he  talked  little.  He  went  so 
far  as  to  drag  in  Reggie  Pole,  so  as  to  keep  Mary  GaUoway 
engaged  while  he  should  be  free  to  follow  his  ovra  thoughts 
He  wanted  to  register  his  impressicais  of  the  last  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  to  engrave  them  on  his  memory  as 
ancient  historians  cut  their  inscriptions  on  rock. 

Without  making  the  admission  in  so  many  words  he 
felt  this  meeting  to  be  one  of  the  three  or  four  notable 
events  m  his  experience.  It  was  to  nothing  said  or  done 
that  this  conviction  was  due,  but  to  causes  over  and  above 
his  power  of  analysis.    With  no  one  else  whom  he  had 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

ever  met  In  the  oommoo  way«  of  godal  life  had  he  gone  so 
•iirectly  to  the  subjects  that  formed  his  chief  preoca^Mi- 
tion.  She  had  a  need  to  discuss  them  similar  to  his  own. 
She  had  a  need  to  make  use  of  them,  too.  though  she  was 
without  a  knowledge  of  thdr  rules  and  principles.  While 
It  might  be  his  part  to  help  her  to  this  knowledge,  he  was 
already  aware  dimly  that  his  interest  in  her  was  essentially 
elementary  and  personaL 

Beyond  intermittent  remarks  on  trivial  things  he  had 
no  further  speech  with  her  till  the  ladies  rose.  Eventhen 
It  was  not  he  who  spoke  to  her;  it  was  she  who  apdks  to 
him,  turning  as  he  drew  back  her  chair. 

"I've  been  so  elad  to  meet  you.  You've  given  me 
ideas  that  are  new  to  me;  but  I  don't  understand  them 
all.  Perhaps  some  day  we  can  have  another  talk."  She 
smiled,  too,  a  dim,  far-away  smile  that  was  less  on  the 
lips  than  in  her  unquiet  eyes.  As  if  with  an  after- 
thought, she  held  out  her  hand.  "I  do  hope  we  shall 
meet  again." 

Mary  Galloway  also  smiled,  but  he  was  so  absorbed 
in  watching  the  other  woman's  swan-like  movements  as 
she  joined  the  defile  of  ladies,  most  of  them  in  sweeping 
trains,  that  he  scarcely  noticed  it. 

In  the  smoking-room  he  tried  to  attach  himself  to 
LesUe  PalHser  in  order  to  talk  of  the  new  acquaintance 
he  had  been  privil^^ed  to  make.    But  Leslie,  who  wasn't 

smoking  himself ,  dodged  about  with  a  box  of  cigars  in  one 
hand  and  one  of  cigarettes  in  the  other  in  such  a  way  that 
it  was  impossible  to  nail  him  down. 

"Oh,  Qorinda  Gildersleeve,"  he  responded,  absently, 
when  Bainbridge  detained  him  a  minute  to  force  the  sub- 
ject.   "Yes,  yes.  .  .  .  Saw  that  Ma^e  had  put  you 
next  to  her.  .  .  .  Mighty  nice  woman.  .  .  .  Yes.  yes." 
S3 


rl 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"She  struck  me  as  more  than  that,"  Bainbridge  de> 
dared,  in  the  hope  of  provoking  discussion. 

But  Leslie's  lack  of  interest  was  apparent  even  when  he 

said:  "Oh,  certainly.  .  .  .  Quite  remarkaMe  woman 

Great  friend  of  ours.  .  .  .  Wonder  you'd  never  met  her 
before.  .  .  .  lives  abroad  a  good  deal.  .  .  .  See?" 

In  the  end  Baiabridge  found  himself  wedged  in  between 
Endsleigh  Jarrott  and  Rodney  Wrenn,  listening  vaguely 
to  the  tetter's  account  of  how  his  mare  had  been  stricken 
with  the  staggers,  while  he  watched  Leslie's  restless  move- 
ments about  the  room  and  wondered  what  ailed  him. 

In  many  ways  Leslie  Palliser  was  his  most  intimate 
friend,  certainly  his  most  intimate  friend  in  New  York. 
They  were  nearly  enough  of  an  age  to  have  known  each 
other  at  Harvard,  where  Leslie  had  been  a  senior  the 
year  when  Bainbridge  had  entered  as  freshman.  Indeed, 
it  had  been  Palliser's  respect  for  the  younger  man,  with 
whom  he  had  maintained  a  touch-and-go  acquaintanle 
through  the  years  subsequent  to  the  univer»ity,that  had 
induced  Dx.  Galloway  to  look  toward  Boston  when  in 
need  of  an  assistant.  Leslie's  own  interest  ir  St.  Mary 
Magdalen's,  where  he  was  now  a  member  of  the  vestry, 
had  begun  en  his  marriage  to  masterful  Maggie  Endsleigh, 
whose  family  had  long  been  ardent  in  the  parish. 

There  were  people  who  wondered  why  Maggie  had 
taken  him,  and  others  who  marveled  that  he  should  have 
married  her.  To  Bainbridge,  on  the  contrary,  they 
seemed  made  for  each  other,  if  for  no  other  reason  than 
their  differences.  Leslie  had  all  the  outer,  exquisite  finish 
his  wife  had  not,  with  a  dreamy,  elusive  qiiality  which 
might  have  been  the  mark  oi  a  poet  rather  than  of  a  writer 
on  pcditical  economy,  as  he  actually  was. 
If  there  was  a  fault  to  be  found  with  him  on  physical 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

gnwnds,  it  was  that  he  was  too  perfect.    A  man  had  no 
b|j^  to  be  so  handsome.    It  n«de  him  look,  so  Bak^ 

&±^1'^  "**  '  ^P^-    The  features  might 
have  been  modeled  in  por«dain;  in  the  sweep  anHp- 

Asplaced;  m  the  droop  of  the  long  eydashes  over  R>maa- 
tic  gray  ey«  there  was  languor  and  poetry  and  passion 
^ail  the  emotional  suggestions  ^7  s.t  ,^S 

fit^.,^  *i!?,^^"^''"««'-  Evening  dress 
fitted  hmi  as  bark  fits  its  stem,  and  his  cmvars^  to 

1«^°"k^  Ti*  **  "^"^"^  '^  ^  °«*id  When  he 
aT^  ^°"  ^'^^  ""^'^  <^"^'  as  he  often  did,  and 
?n^  T^'  J^  "f^  '*  "^  ^^  ^"^^  «=««»°i<=  statistics 
and  forecasts  of  new  routes  of  trade  from  the  lips  of  a 
Wattetm  shepherd  «•  a  jeutu  premier.  »»  «  • 

/•Poor  I«Ue!  Don't  you  think  his  good  looks  a«  a 
Zfr^^.  He  tnes  so  hard  to  be  taken  seriously, 
and  my  husband  says  that  he  has  just  as  much  chance  a« 
a^narytobetakenforac^e.      What  do  y^  say?" 

Mrs^Endsle.gh  Jarrott  asked  the  question,  as  she  asked 
«J1  questions,  as  if  it  were  a  burning  one,  and  Bainbridge 
the  only  aathon^  m  the  world  who  could  deal  withT 
^ey  were  seated  now  in  tJie  musioioom,  where  LesKe 

ITJ^f^mr^"^  ^^  ^^^-  and  had  pt.  ^  in  the 
interval  between  two  movements.  Bainbridge  v,as  sorry 
to  have  to  speak,  for  the  doing  so  broke  the  spdl  of  st«n« 
d^mismto  which  the  strange  hannoni^Had  tS 
hJrn.  Smce  it  was  necessary  to  respond,  he  merely  said: 
ae  seems  to  bear  up  under  it." 
"Yes,  ht  bears  up,"  the  lady  declared,  quickly,  "oer- 
haps  better  than  poor  Maggie  does."    ^  ^^'^'^    P^ 

As  Leslie  ceased  speaking  to  Maiy  GaBoway.  who  wBi 
55 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

sitting  near  the  piano,  and  began  on  the  minuet,  it  was 
impossible  to  say  more;  but  Mrs.  Jarrott's  last  words 
gave  for  an  instant  a  new  direction  to  Bainbridge's 
thoughts.  In  reality  she  was  the  one  of  his  parishoners 
of  whom  he  was  somewhat  afraid.  He  had  sat  down  be- 
side her  not  from  choice,  but  because  on  the  entry  of  the 
men  she  had  beckoned  to  him  and  made  room  on  a  settee 
against  the  waU.  A  Juno  in  white  satin,  with  a  skin 
which  at  forty-five  was  still  as  rich  and  as  even  as  cream, 
she  had  a  manner  of  appealing  to  any  man  who  happened 
to  be  near  her  as  if  she  hung  on  his  opinion.  Bainbridge 
had  noticed  in  his  own  case  that  if  she  hung  on  his  opin- 
ion it  was  in  a  way  to  involve  it  with  hers,  and  often  to 
impart  a  sense  of  indorsing  some  subtle  calumny. 

But  with  the  renewal  of  the  strange  harmonies  he 
passed  again  into  his  strange  dreams,  especially  as  he  had 
QorindaGildersleeve  directly  in  his  line  of  vision.  Sea^ 
in  a  low  chair  ahnost  in  the  center  of  the  room,  fanning 
herself  slowly,  her  train  shimmering  about  her  feet,  she 
stirred  his  imagination  to  the  new  questions,  to  the  new 
relation  of  men  and  women  to  eadi  other  and  to  the  world, 
of  which  this  new  music  was  in  some  sense  the  voice.  In 
it  emotion  was  intermingled  with  interrogation,  and  pas- 
sion was  restrained  by  sheer  consciousness  of  itself.  It 
was  as  far  from  the  triumphant  self-assurance  of  the 
nineteenth  century  as  from  the  melodic  sentiment  of  the 
eighteenth,  and  was  perhaps  nearer  to  life  than  either 
because  of  being  more  inarticulate,  more  troubled,  more 
tortured,  more  eager  for  the  basic  and  the  ultimate.  As 
Palliser  played  with  a  dreamy  abandonment  that  made 
itself  felt  in  the  way  his  slim  silhouette  leaned  back  from 
the  piano,  while  his  eyes  sought  the  corpice  of  the  room 
as  if  looking  into  far  spiritually  peopled  spaces,  the  tones 
56 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

wove  themselves  in  with  Bainbridge's  hopes  and  wonder- 
ings  and  desires  and  became  their  speech. 

It  was  with  something  of  a  shock  that  in  the  next  inter- 
im ,  ?  hMTd  Mrs.  Jarrott  say,  eagerly:  "What  do  you 
thmk?  Wouldn't  you  simply  hate  it  if  you  were  in  Man- 
gle's place?"  ^^ 

He  looked  blank.    "Simply  hate  it?    Why?" 

"Oh,  don't  tell  me  you  don't  know.    If  I  had  a  husband 

hke  that,  with  every  third  woman  in  New  York  throwing 

herself  at  his  head,  my  hair  would  have  turned  gr^ 

long  ago."  "    ' 

"But  you  haven't  a  husband  like  that,"  he  managed 
to  say,  as  with  a  pang  of  envy  he  watched  Harvey  Colfax 
^f^up  to  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  for  an  exchange  of  joking 

"No,  thank  God!  And  I  sometimes  fancy  that  dear 
^^e  wishes  she  could  say  the  same.    What  do  you 

*.i?*  ^}^  was  new  to  Bainbridge,  and  sUghtly  dis- 
tunnng.      Ive  never  thought  anything  about  it— " 

"Wdl,  I  would  if  I  were  you.  You  see  so  much  of 
tnem  both — 

"That's  just  it;  and  I've  never  had  the  slightest  rea- 
son to  suspect—"  -""IS"-*!.!,  re*- 

"Oh,  men  never  do  suspect  till  the  thing  is  right  under 
their  noses,  she  declared,  passionately.  "It  isn't  what 
one  sees,  it's  what  one  knows." 
"Do  you  know  anything  in  particular?" 
She  drew  herself  up  with  dramatic  haughtiness  "Do 
you  think  I'd  betray  it  if  I  did?  I'm  not  talking  scandal 
—to  you  of  all  people.    I  only  want  to  be  reassured  " 

K  you  want  me  to  tell  you  that  Leslie  and  Maggie  ate 
perfectly  happy—"  ^ 

«  ST 


li' 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

wi'"""^  y«»  <»  tea  me  they're  not  pattioK  np  a 

"They're  not  M  far  as  I  can  see.    I've  never  thoueht 
of  such  a  thing." 

She  sighed  and  sodled  as  if  playing  to  a  gallery,  ixdling 
her  tmy,  brilliait  eyes.    "Then  I'm  so  relieved.    You 
know  if  any  one  would;  though  I  don't  suppose  that  any 
OTe  COM  know  beyond  all  doubt.    What  do  you  think? 
Can  Maggie  expect  to  hold  a  man  like  that—?" 
"Isn't  it  a  sufficient  answer  that  she  does?" 
ae-  seemed  to  tear  at  her  heart.     "Ah,  but  does  she? 
TeU  me  frankly,  now.    You'd  know  if  any  one  would  and 
I  want  your  real  opinion.    If  you'd  seen  the  way  they 
wwe  married!    Dear  Maggie,  with  her  wiU  and  her  sias 
and  her  money,  simply  swooped  down  on  him,  like  a 
typhoon  on  a  schooner,  and  swallowed  him  up.    Poor 
Leshe  was  wooed  and  married  and  a'— before  he  knew 
what  he  was  about.     He  hadn't  a  penny-as  I  suppose 
you  know.     Dear  Maggie  swept  him  off  his  feet;    but 
whrther  she'n  keep  him  off  them,  now  that  he's  got  more 
of  a  position  in  the  world,  is  another  matter.    What  do 
you  say?" 

He  found  himself  reUeved  of  the  necessity  of  answering 
to  question  by  the  fact  that  LesUe  again  stretched  out 
his  arms  to  the  keyboard,  and  with  head  thrown  back 
and  that  air  of  searching  vague,  spiritual  places,  begaii 
on  fte  last  movement.  But  the  strange  harmonies  now 
stirred  Bambridge's  imaginaticm  to  a  new  variety  of 
strange  thoughts.  Without  crediting  Mrs.  Jarrott's  in- 
smuations.  or  attaching  to  them  more  importance  than 
^  deserved,  he  found  it  difficult  to  dismiss  them. 
When,  therefore,  he  sat  alone  with  LesUe  and  Maggie 
after  the  other  guests  had  gone,  he  lodced  at  both  witii 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

a  wonder  for  which  the  word  suspkaon  was  acaicdy  too 
harsh  a  term.  ' 

They  were  stfll  in  the  music-room,  where  Leslie  had 
returned  to  the  piaao-seat,  after  escorting  the  last  of  the 
ladies  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Palliser  and  Bainbridge  had  al- 
ready dropped  into  two  of  the  comfortaMe  chairs  grouped 
carelessly  near  the  instrument. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Clorinda?"  she  had  asked  at 
once.  ' 

^He  had  answered,  truthfuny.  "I  thought  her  wonder- 

"  Wonderful  in  what  way?" 

"Oh,  in  every  way.    She's  so— so  amazing." 

It  was  then  that  Palliser  came  back  from  his  task  as 
host,  catching  the  last  words.  "Who's  amazing?"  He 
put  the  question  sharply  and  nervously,  and  yet  with  a 
met^c  laugh.  Slipping  into  the  piano-seat,  he  struck 
a  loud,  harsh  chord  or  two,  before  adding,  "Who's  Arthur 
ravmg  about  now?" 

"  Clorinda.    I  put  him  next  to  her." 

Palliser  sounded  out  a  few  more  chorxls,  breaking  into 
a  snatch  from  "Tristan". 

"I'm  not  raving  about  her."  Bainbridge  protested; 

but  I  found  her  unusual." 

"TTiat's  why  I  wanted  you  to  know  her."  Mis.  Palliser 
explamed.    "  If  Mary  GaUoway  won't  do— " 

Palliser  snatched  his  hands  from  the  keyboard  and 
turned  fiercely.  "For  God's  sake,  Maggie,  let  Arthur 
tnanage  his  own  aflEairs." 

"That's  what  I  want  him  to  do-with  a  Uttte 
directmg." 

"Can't  he  direct  them  himself?" 

Her  kiud,  frank  langh  was  the  more  bofatjrous  because 
59 


"C«iyo< 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

of  her  irritetioa  in  bthag  calkd  to  aoooont. 
Arttmrf    Do  you  waot  me  to  drep  ont?" 

^Ws  hands  rtimyed  into  tiie  fiwHnuric  "Whrt 
on  MrOi  era  he  say?  Do  yo«  eq)eet  him  to  «1  you  to 
m»dyo«r  own  business?"  The  leaping.  cn«dding  ^^ 
o£  the  phrases  he  seaned  to  whip  oat  of  the  piano  ««- 

dewd  ody  the  more  nervous  the  tangh  by  which  he  tried 
to  tone  down  the  annoyance  in  his  wwds. 

Warned  by  the  flwh  in  his  hostess's  eye,  Bainbridge- 
2«««tolii8feet,saying.ashedKiso:  "Manieismin^L 
her  own  busmess  when  she's  minding  mine.    Aita^tyoT 
Maggie?    It  will  be  a  pretty  cold  day  iriien  I  don't  turn 
to  yott  as  a  oonstitatiooal  monarch  to  his  prime  minister  " 
eomg  forward;  he  leaned  on  the  piano,  where  PaUiser  was 
now  running  mto  something  else.    "What's  that  squis- 
Ming  thing  you're  playing,  Leslie?" 
Palliser  said  it  was  IW>ussy's  "Reflet  duis  I'eaa." 
^bridge  looked  round  at  his  hostess,  but  shook  his 
Head  sidewise  in  the  diiectiott  of  his  fiiead     "What's 
the  matter  with  him?     He's  been  like  that  all  the 
evemng."  ^^ 

R&iiig  also,  Mrs.  Paffi,,  went  forwwL    Above  her 
evsmng  dress  of  pale-Wue  silk  h«  &oe  wis  unusually 

,^.,  ^l?'*,^^'^  *«"'«*' '•^  P««d-    Standing 
shghtly  behind  ier  husband,  she  bmajed  her  hand  UAt^ 
over  hu,  hMd     "Poor  dear,"  she  said,  sofdy;   "it's 
Clormda.    He  doem't  like  her  " 
^^^JJDo^^'t  like  her?"  B«nb;idge  demanded,  quickly. 

ae  had  got  back  her  orisy,  jdly  voice.    "Oh,  you 

^•skhmthat.    /don't  know."    She  bent  till  te 

wd  cheek  touched  his  hair,  while  she  murmured,  tenderiy 

AU  I  see  IS  that  whenever  she's  round  he's  cross  and 

4e 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


aansjbty,  and  wants  to  lay  boRid  thiap  to  Ut  poor  old 

mumiey-wiiiiisey  wife,  who  adores  him." 

While  his  rig^t  hand  continaed  to  find  the  keys  Pal- 
liaer  raised  his  left,  and,  drawing  up  the  fingers  tliat  rested 
on  his  shoulder,  he  touched  them  with  his  lips.  And  yet 
it  seemed  to  Bainbridge  that  the  romantic  eyes  con- 
tinued to  search  the  dimness  about  the  oomioe  of  the 
room  as  if  seddng  the  things  that  were  rsalities. 


CHAPTER  V 

"C^S^"^- T"  *^'' •^  "^^fi^t  a -to  lad 
^^  ever  been  m  love.    ShVa  »«.  ^  ^i.  ^^ 

have  always  been  a^to^c^  ^1,^  ^^T  1'" 

Bambndge's  heart  gave  a  great  boundlt^  sam^ 
thing  to  know  that  no  one  dae  hadl^  wT,, 

«^rlt!!^t      ^  acquaintance  with  Clorinda  Gil^ 
J^whe«  the  ^clconing  of  chance  haSCrS: 

tented  with  his  day^wc^^!  ^^^      "^  "^  «»- 

c-fid^tial.  Ledfe'hS  ^IS^'^^rt"^.!* 
awnber,  dimly  liriited  KvLZ^^^  ^  ****  "^y 
tuckedktob^  t^  •  T^'  '^  **  ^''i'*«»  being 
^  wwSt  ^r"::**  '^  ^vorabletothatintS 

that  resemwr  fh^^  S?  ■  *=*°  «»»  to  something 
Bainbn^r^^er^^^-^^^cn   Of    spS 

and  her  limitations     He  ^;,rf^^  ^  ^*^ '''* '''*^ 

J^  even  when'^^tltS.  'wiS  ^^TteS 

icnew  It  to  be  inspired  by  good  win.  ■  =«w*  ne 

How  do  you  know  she's  never  been  in  love?"  he  v«- 

03 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

tared  to  uk,  Ui  cgm  gubg  into  the  heart  ol  the  qiltitterw 
btg  fire. 

"Becanw  1  da    I  kaow  all  about  her.    She  oooldn't 

have  been  in  love  without  my  seetng  it." 

"She's  been  married." 

"That  didn't  count.    She  was  very  sweet  with  poor 

old  Martin  Gildersleeve;  but  he  was  neariy  sixty  when 

she  wasn't  twenty-one.    That  was  her  mothei^-old  Mis. 

Rintoul.    Clorinda  wa&  one  of  those  dreamy  giris  who 

develop  late.     She  just  wallced  through  the  mairiage, 

as  you  might  say.  and  hardly  knew  where  she  was  tiU 

she  was  out  on  the  other  side.    Since  then—" 

"Yes,  since  then— what?" 

"Oh,  well,  she's  been  waking  up.  I  can't  describe  her 
m  any  other  way.  She's  trying  to  find  herself;  and  she's 
just  as  much  at  sixes  and  sevens  as  if  she  was  Galatea 
come  to  life  at  the  age  of  thirty-one." 

For  some  minutes  Bainbridge  puffed  at  his  agar  in 
silence.  "She  always  seems  to  me,"  he  said  then,  "as 
if  she  was— as  if  she  was  hiding  something."  Startled 
by  his  own  words,  he  was  nevertheless  relieved  that 
Maggie  should  agree  with  hinL 

"Yes,  she  does.  But  she  isn't.  She  has  nothing  to 
hide.  She  couldn't  have  without  my  seeing  it.  There's 
nothing  behind  that  air  of  mystery  but  herself." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  herself  is  a  mystery?" 

"Only  in  the  sense  that  she's  a  woman  who  has  never 
had  a  woman's  chief  experience." 

"Because  she's  never  been  in  love?  But  then  she 
might  have  been,"  he  persisted,  for  the  sake  of  being 
contradicted  again,  "without  having  told  you  anything 
about  it."  -»  J  /       B 

She  shook  her  head.    "  I  shouldn't  want  her  to  tell  me. 
63 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


■.Mn 


I  dMMld  ham  known."    She  ■AW  «m,  -.„.,__  j_. 
^~ce.  "I don't « M nmAofSil^L?!??!!!!^ 
l«Hedo«B't  lite  her.^^^^^^^*^' ''**«* 

^  «i«rf  hii  head  with  diriodty.  "So  vo« -id  th« 
«tt»r  «ght,  but  I  am  h«rdly  iwuZe  it  Wh^  ^i^ 
■houldn't  be  lite  her?"  •— «™  w.    wiiy  on  euth 

"PtfbBiM  because  she  doen't  like  Mm.  Twi  «aK~i^ 
^too.  They««*tobev«ygoodlLi  b^ 
th^new  .peak  to  each  otherS^lStt^.'t  hS,^ 

Bambridge  .Bowed  this  to  oa«.  "a«---  £J^^ 
thisafterooon."  "»  »  !»*•      She  wm  m  church 

"That's  another  thing  about  h«P-«h-',  ««.».  u  j 
rtliinca    Neither  hKHrT^.'^tJ?  f^ 
^^^Gildersleeve.    They've  all  beT^*^  ^ 

t^ l^^^Z^""^  bas  been  in  a  chS 

<«"a'^^:<^:.*^  ^*'«*^'«  ««»^.. 

yo«^LS'*V^Lf^'.*^*'»y«'-    She  goes  to  hear 
you  preadL    I  know  you  intemst  »««■•  1^4.       .       7^ 

way £n« having ccn^^S^'^'  '^^y^"**'"* 

andtienn«,Ltrt^S^.*«»-«*^-'^ 

Oh,  don't  defend  yourself.    There's  no  ham  in  your 
fyuig  to  convert  her,  and  there  mav  h«  -nlT^  ™  ywjr 

win  be  like  tamimr  a  wild  J^  ^^       ^*  *^°*^-    ^* 
^^^^  _^  ««  lining  a  wild  bad;  but  even  that  has  been 

"And  yet  you  yourself—" 

y^'^t  r  *?r*r-^«^f«  the  reason  that  1 
w«rt  you  to  have  the  privOqje  of  choice.    I  don't^ 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

jraa  ihoald  nrii  in  haadlaiic  aad  BMny  MMyGaOomy 
withmtt  wtiag  tiiat  thm  an  othtr  tjrpM  of  mmoi  ia 
tiwirarid." 

He  Mdad.  "Bwn  I  rfmra  aqr  et?««  of  nahisg  in 
hmUmii,    f" 

"My  dear  nan,  I  don't  watt  tfl  yvr,  ujov.  sk-m  of 
thnigr  My  part  ii  to  aatidpa^^e  T;  j  hr^o't  .-? 'uiii- 
mended  Maiy,  to hegta  with,  I  ic-n*  iyeJicvc  -wu'i  w 
have  giTMi  her  a  aeoond  thooglit  " 

"How  do  you  know  I  have,  t  -:  it  jsr 

"By  my  oonanon  aenw.  Now  th^t  I  i^n  pointed  her 
out,  yott  caa't  help  amag  that  ah*'s  ioeaJly  t .  orife  far 
yoo.    No  one  die  will  ever  be  as  coiyl  " 

"And  yet—" 
!«•;  Qoriflda  acain.  But,  don't  yoa  see,  yon  can 
never  get  tiie  tme  vahie  of  anything  unleos  yoa  have  a 
•tandard  of  compariaon?  Qonnda  throws  Mary  int» 
rdief ;  Mary  doe*  the  same  for  fa«ri~<fl  If  you  marry 
the  one  ihell  be  happy  with  you;  if  you  marry  the 
other  you'U  be  happy  with  her.  There's  your  range 
of  cbsioe,  and  it's  pretty  good  wUdiever  way  you 
take  it" 

"Yes,  but  with  a  Ing  if." 

"There's  an  if  in  everything  tin  you  get  it  out  Thafa 
what  remaina  for  you  to  do." 

He  reflected  en  this.  "You  say  that  one  of  then 
would  be  happy  with  me.    Which  would  that  be?" 

"That's  something  for  you  to  find  out.  I  aha'n't  Ml 
you.  If  I  did,  you're  the  sort  of  man  vrtw'd  go  straight 
and  propose  to  her.  In  all  nurriagee  one  is  happier  than 
the  other,  and  that  you  can  take  from  me." 

As  Bainbridge  said  no  more,  silenoe  f  dl  till  they  bewail 
to  speak  of  the  meeting  of  a  board  of  dixectuHi  (^  a  chaii- 
65 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


t^  institution  which  wa.  to  be  held  .t  the  P^ffi^r 
««deMe  on  «  day  in  the  week  that  had  fcrt  b^ 

"Not  to  be  what?" 

"But  if  Blie  om't  hdp  it?" 

"S  "?  S"  ""*'  '"*«  ""^t  I"  tm." 

"^"^^ JXSr j-cu;? ""  »^ 

never  been  in  love  himself."  ^^ 

m^^h*^*,/  "^"^  '^•"  •""  answered,  quietly.    "I've 
^^toteu  you  about  it  sometin^.      irdo  ^  J.  a 

It  was  a  ^ple  story,  which  he  told  simply.    He  had 

St^air^S::S°if^-"^'=^  some  one  S^ 
natwasau.    She  had  refused  him  without  knowing  how 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

hard  it  had  gone  with  him,  and  now  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  he  saw  her  they  were  still  good  friends. 

"So  that  it  didn't  work  out  into  happiness—"  she  be- 
gan to  object. 

"Oh  yes,  it  did— because  it  showed  me  the  direction 
m  which  my  happiness  was  to  he.  It  suggested  its  own 
consolation;  and  the  consolation  led  me  into  the  Chureh. 
I'd  meant  to  be  a  lawyer  before  that." 

"I'm  very  glad  you  didn't  become  one,"  she  atdaimed. 
with  a  sort  of  weary  heartiness.  "There  are  plenty  of 
good  lawyers;  but  there  are  not  many  deigymen  like 
you.  I'll  remember  what  you've  said  ftbout  not  probing 
love  with  questions  or  tormenting  oneself  with  feais. 
It's  pretty  hard  at  times—" 

He  broke  in  on  another  of  the  convulsive  gasps  that 
were  nearly  sobs  by  saying:  "Old  John  Keble  speaks  of 
love  as 'the  flower  that  closes  up  for  fear';  and  it  certainly 
won't  grow  if  we  keep  puUing  it  up  by  the  roots  to  see 
how  It's  getting  along.  It  '11  do  best  when  re  water  it 
with  trust  rather  than  with  suspicion,  and  keep  our  own 
love  as  true  and  sure  as  possible." 

As  LesUe  strolled  back  into  the  room  they  began  again, 
rather  consciously,  to  talk  of  the  meeting  to  be  held  on 
the  foUowing  Wednesday  afternoon;  but  Bainbridge  was 
surprised,  as  he  said  good  night,  at  the  vigor  with  which 
Maggie's  strong  hand  clasped  his,  and  more  so  when 
she  said,  in  a  low,  husky  voice,  "God  bless  you,  Arthurl" 
at  a  Dttoment  when  her  husband's  back  was  turned. 

But  he  walked  home  in  a  sort  of  waking  trance.  Qo- 
rinda  Gildersleeve  had  never  been  in  love  before!  The 
information  was  startling.  It  brou^t  her  nearer  to 
him;  it  made  her  almost  accessible;  it  iwnoved  the 
haaatiag  dread  he  had  carried  away  from  each  meetiae 
67  ^ 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

with  her  that  there  was  somethioE  in  ha-  mn.iri..u,.L.  *t.  * 

J-w^.  She  was  beyond  his  «ach  in  any  owThe 
^^:J-Vc€«^,  Awon^nofherpciti^riJ: 
a<w»-«  woman  who  carried  with  her  an  air  erf  p»u>«« 
•^^de^ect  that  nri^t  have  g^  "th^^T 

n«n  m  a  aty  like  New  York.    But  it  didaVdo  ^y 

^the  fact  that  he  loved  her.ortaake  his  toveoneS 
Je»  a  glorious,  noble,  fexhilarating  thing 

^^rte.    He  did  it  as  he  turned  out  of  Sixty-nin^ 

^«to^  Arown  up  by  the  dty  and  noting  on  it  like 
^T^^*^  was  a  nagic  in  this  sjor  akin  to 

was  be«.bfymg,  transforming,  tremendous;  iTwIT  fte 
^J^,^* Jr^  *»«  «8ly  «to  loveline«  and^' 
SS.^J^,^'**^     It  "P^-d  itself  abovspi^ 

^H^H  j!r^  ^°°^  «^'"  »•«  q«°ted  tolLself 

ii«it,^';rt  s?"  *;«  "-h*^ «- — 

shflnM  iTrtl  ^;.  .  ***•  """^  °°  «•««■  what 

8ho^  be  Aeresnlt.  it  was  for  him  part  of  that  hieh«t 
^^  which  he  had  always  madVhis  ataj  ft^S 
■hould  love  Oorinda  Gildaraleeve. 
The  Father  of  Ughts!    He  uttered  the  exclamation 

68 


Mi 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

seemed  like  the  infinite  distance  of  tije  lower  stretches  of 
the  city;  they  twinkled  through  the  trees  on  his  right; 
they  threw  out  broad  shafts  from  the  doorways  on  hi^ 
left;  they  banked  themselves  in  stupendous  masses  and 
rows,  hi^  vp  and  sky-like,  in  the  hotels  and  apartment- 
houses  south  of  the  Park.  It  was  not  like  a  wonderland- 
It  was  like  the  great  heart  of  the  world,  the  heart  of  the 

human  race,  the  heart  that  is  all  file  and  passion  and  k)ve 
gazing  through  wid&open  eyes,  kicking  out,  looking  on' 
while  he  entered  into  his  heritage.  The  Father  of  Lights  I 
Every  good  gift  and  every  perfect  gift  came  down,  could 
only  come  down,  from  Him;  so  that  Baiabridge  took  his 
love  as  a  boon. 

He  dreamed  of  it  that  night.  In  the  morning  he  looked 
over  his  cards  of  invitation  to  see  if  he  was  asked  to  any 
houses  where  he  might  possibly  meet  Mra.  Gildei^leeve. 
He  went  to  the  Qoudsleys',  where  a  daughter  was  being 
brought  out;  but  Ckjrinda  wasn't  there,  and  his  day 
grew  somber.  It  gave  him,  however,  a  feeling  that  his 
time  had  not  been  wholly  thrown  away  when  he  had  a 
talk  with  Miss  Higgins  over  a  matter  which  he  deemed 
of  some  importance. 

He  had  noticed  her  ahaaost  from  the  moment  of  his 
eitranoe  into  the  great  Ckradsley  drawing-room,  chiefly 
because  of  the  way  in  which  she  verified  Maggie  Palliser's 
description  given  to  hm  two  months  earlier.  She  was 
standing  in  a  comer,  gaunt  and  grimacing,  in  spite  of 
a  dashing,  fashionable  hat  and  a  trim,  tailor-made  suit 
<rf  gray.  His  eyes  sought  her  at  intervals  for  the  reason 
that  she  exercised  on  him  a  sort  of  fascination.  He  found 
her  at  once  pitiful  in  her  isolation  and  sinister  in  the 
kind  of  watchfuhiess  with  which  her  small,  cold,  smiling 
eyes  roanwd  about  the  company.  FeeUng  it  his  duty  to 
69 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


spedc  to  her  if  for  no  other  reuon  th«n  that  she  wm  a 
P««hioner    he  fou«i  hin«elf  g«eted  with  the  ^ 

And  yet  when  it  came  to  actual  conversation  he  was 

^pathies.    Indeed    she  plunged  into  a  subject  that 
would  have  mterested  any  deiyyinan,  and  Bainb^ 
mo«  tha„  most,  without  undue  iSsTtimT  "^""^ 
Oh  Mr.  Bainbridge.  I've  been  most  amdous  to  meet 
you.    I  want  to  consult  you  about  a  young  giri     She's 
^  ahttle  servant  of  min..-    Oh,  iT^S  kii  J 
naid-and  I  never  have  more  than  one-my  meanHem 
ZT^'JK  But  Pansy  was  such  a  sweet'^hT^ 
and  devoted  to  me-simply  devoted-I  never  S 
have  suspected  her  of  moral  delinquency  " 
With  this  as  a  preamble  his  interest  was  assured  in 

watch  for  Clonnda  Gildeisleeve.  ^^ 

The  story  was  of  the  kind  which  never  fails  to  be  ab- 
soAmg.  even  though  he  had  heard  it  in  varyi^ToZ 
ever  s««  the  begimun,  of  his  work.    Pan^^^ 
^t  ™T.     ""1*1°*  "  P*^'  '^P^^btewidow  Z 
Wy  had  become  known  to  Miss  Higgins  when  the 
^'£  i^*""!*^"  apartment-house  in  which  she 
S'  ^•*^'^-.    ^  «^^  «««i°°«l  help  to  the 
^er,  M«s  ftgg,ns  had  taken  Pansy,  at  the  age^ 
fi^^  aregular  member  of  her  establishment.    TiZ 
had  been  two  years  earlier,  and  though  in  the  mean  time 
^s  expenences  had  been  such  as  to  preclude  further 

Brl  had  not  been  relaxed.    The  trouble  was  to  know  what 
70 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

to  do,  sinoe  Pansy  had  8hown  a  tendency  to  be  a  law 
unto  herself.  '       «=  «  «w 

"And  I  have  to  be  so  carefiil,  in  my  positit 
alone,"  Miss  Higgins  explained,  modestly.  Her 
"It  was— it 


in  my  position,  living 

adestly.    Her  eyes  fell. 

a  man,  you  understand— a  man— and 


then  poor  Pansy  had— weU,  I  can  only  caU  it  by  its  right 
nan»-Pansy  had-«  cWld.  She's  run  away  from  home 
—ead  refuses  to  give  her  mother  the  name  of  the  child's 
fathei--«nd  I  don't  know  what  other  dreadful  things  may 
not  happen  to  her.  H  there  was  only  some  place  where 
the  poor  girl  could  be  put— and  taught  something— that's 
what  I  say--taught  something.  The  trouble  with  our 
lower  classes  is  that  they're  so  helpless— there  are  so  few 
thmgs  that  they  can  do— even  if  they're  paid  for  it.  And 
poor  Uttle  Pansy  now— she  wasn't  bad— not  naturally 
She  was  just  young  and  pretty  and  dissatisfied— unsatis- 
fied, as  you  might  say-and  this  is  New  York— and  there 
you  are!  Oh,  Mr.  Bainbridge,  if  you  only  knew  of  some 
place  where  they'd  take  her-if  we  can  find  out  where 

*®  T"^"^  ^^^^'^tootaigonistohe  tided  over  this 
wilful  penod  in  her  life.  .  .  ." 

Bainbridge  found  his  respect  for  Miss  Higgins  in- 
creasmg,  and  his  suspicions,  in  as  far  as  they  were  sus- 
piaons,  melting  away.  It  was  precisely  the  sort  of  in- 
stance that  touched  him.  Moreover,  he  knew  of  just 
the  right  institution  for  Pansy  WUde,  if  her  mother  would 
mtrust  her  to  its  care.  Yes,  it  was  an  institution— the 
worid  had  not  outUved  that  kind  of  mechanical  solicitude 
yet;  but  It  was  an  old  foundation  for  New  York,  dating, 
that  was,  from  the  eighteenth  century,  and  very  well 
managed  and  endowed.  He  himself  was  a  member  of 
the  board  of  directors,  of  whom  there  was  to  be  a  meet- 
ing that  very  week.  In  the  mean  time  he  would  send 
71 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


with  j^  siTti^  ^  *^  "^^  '^  «««^t 

book,  he  toT^^^Mif^  *^  "^  ^  "«  «>'«- 
won  her  W  1!?^*^  ?«f» '^t'' «  w«nnth  that 

vioo^y  bTLS^  r^  *«*  «>«  ^  ««t  he  l»d  P«- 

with  Maty  GaUowav  Wi^l^^     ^^  * ''^  "  **» 
BalaWghjaZr^'^  with  Magpe  Palliaer.  with  Mm. 

did  he  Uke"^;:::^*  *^*  a--Ja  wouldn't  corne 

On  Tuesday,  there  beine  no  ainh  «»»,*  i, 
to  caa  oo  her.  and  actuaUy  aTSsI^!:^*  was  tempted 
strolled  by  her  housTbarr^J^    ^?  '^  '^e  "*• 

«f  being  Lint^  "ISw ''*=^"'' °' ^^ 
tbat  night  helS  ^h^^  ^|  ^-  ^^"^ 
'-aWng  up  his  nund  SttZi^I^^  "^^  '^'^^■ 
however  serious  the  ^tSL^lS  ^  If"*  '^y- 
he  had  known  her  shHSlo  SS*^'^  "^^^ 
«3king  hina  to  come  that tdTso^S^  :::^ 
and  caned  on  him  to  nrn^a^  ^^Jr^*'"^*^- 
n«nit.  It  might  be-it^,  !r'  ^'^  ^^-  be  would 
»ad  hope  whiSth^^Sr^  -  his  part  than  a 

n-^^that  sbe  a  ^t;:  SLr:s.e"  ■"  ^ - 

home.    HisspSt^T''*°^'^^'°^«'t 

ton^et^:^-In£-V-^-le2^hun 
72 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


«W«l«y.  The  week  might  go  by  witbout  U.  Meing  her 
«d  «,  m^ht  anath«  .^    He  ^n-utej^/^ 

owa  meet  almost  any  one  eta  at  any  time  he  choae 
adshearajdhim?  He  ooold  have  b^i^S^ 
think  sojwd  It  not  been  far  a  certain  k^of  ri^«^ 
ff«n^  that  was  not  fer  mnoved  bJt^ 
betrayed  each  time  of  seeing  him.  W"-«»» 

Gloomily  making  up  hie  mind  to  his  diswrnointment 
he  w«  attempting  the  second  b«t  by  gofa^^rrS; 

jneetmg^  »  the  chance  of  a  halfW  ^Se  pS 
^.  ,^«hmight  be  spent  in  a  «newal  of  «^^ 
SL  ^'l^tlL'^.^  turned  fi«n  Fifth  Avenue  i«to 
Surty-nmth  Street,  he  felt  a  kind  of  imKr  f«ntn«.  7? 
^ht  of  a  tall,  distingmshed  figure  deecendix^m  a 
m^ttat  drew  up  at  Maggie's  door  b^^^TLdc  stiU 
Qonnda  spoke  to  the  chauffeur  and  dismissed  him.  ^ 
^=^  i«.  alre«jy  moving  «stw«d  along  the  staeS 

take  the  few  necessary  steps  and  join  her. 

Not  having  noticed  his  approach,  she  turned  with  a 
qmck,  sfrtled  flush  at  sonrrf  of  his  voice-TlTets 

before  o«  could  notice  it,  into  leassuiaace  and  welcome 
It  was  her  customary  greeting.    He  could  not  remembe^ 

that  he  had  ever  come  near  her  without  seeing  that  swift 
^*j™-nr  token  of  f«r.  which  flashed^aft^ 

Tt  IJ^  ""'"^^  acknowledgment  of  his  p,^^ 
It  had  been  so  at  their  first  meeting,  and  conS  to 
be  so  Still.  It  p„«ded  her  smile,  and  the  way  sTh^ 
of  hddmg  out  her  hand-a  way  that  was  at  <L  tiSd 
Md  frank,  lofty,  gracious,  and  condescending,  and  vet 
seemmgly  half  afraid  '■'  '^ 

U 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


iv! 


"An  you  gaiag  in  to  aee  Maggie?" 

He  fdt  that  her  words  were  merely  on  a»  im&oe-  ihm 
«al.tae.  between  them  were  in  their  LhTiS'ejS! 
mobecure  emotir^:.  for  which  no  lang««  ^JTi 

S:SS^'"      '^-eeting?    What  n^eting?" 

"Then  I  Shan  not  go  in."    She  said  so  to  the  footman 

StTr^'%t«-    S^«  had  <«- about  noSS^ 

i^i^Jf  ^"-  ^*"^  and  have  a  cup  of  tea-but  ^ 

would  return  another  day.  «»— our  sue 

B^bridge  endeavored  to  persuade  her;  they  had 
Ptenty  of  tmie;  the  meeting  would  not  begin  fof^ottS 
half-hour;  he  himself  had  come  early.  "-anotner 

^J:^Z'  ^"^°'«»8«>d.  I  love  walking  on  theee 
a^  afternoons.  That's  why  I  sent  .waylhrLtorl 
m«nt  to  wdk  many  case.  Do  give  my  love  toN^ 
andsay  I  didn't  want  to  see  her  ab^t  J^^l 

n^hl'  T  K'T.^f  *  Mttle^^ust  a  Httle  lor^T^i 
thought  I  should  like  a  chat."  /.  "«i  * 

^th  that  indination  of  the  head  which  he  always  com- 
pared to  the  bend  of  a  lily  on  its  rtalk  she  WX^ 
W  h,m  when  he  took  his  comage  in  both  hands.^« 
«^tIwalkaUttlewithyou?  I'm  too3y  for^ 
»-^g.  and  M^e  wiU  only  be  bored  ^iL^X 

"Why,  of  course— if  you  like  " 
What  she  really  meant  was  written  in  the  flashing,  un- 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

*<**M»Me  hagonge  d  her  face.  That  was  something 
to  wUch  he  had  no  key.  Displeasure  was  not  in  it  so 
much  as  misgiving,  and  misgiving  not  so  much  as  a 
tremulous  acquiescence.  That  this  exquisite  being,  whom 
he  could  scarcely  approach  without  a  sense  <rf  reverence 
and  awe,  should  give  him  the  permission  for  irtiich  he 
asked,  not  carelessly  or  indifferently,  but  with  something 
like  emotion  -jn  her  own  part,  swept  him  upward  into 
regions  such  as  he  had  never  before  dreamt  of. 

When  they  were  actually  side  by  side,  walking  toward 
Fifth  Avenue,  he  found  himself  with  nothing  to  say.  The 
situation  had  changed  so  rapidly  that  he  was  at  a  loss 
not  merely  for  language,  but  for  thought.  And  yet  out- 
ward conditions  were  so  photographed  on  his  faculties  as 
to  make  the  moment  memorable.  He  saw  everything, 
though  he  seemed  to  be  taking  note  of  nothing.  He  saw 
the  double  rush  of  motors,  swinging  from,  and  into  the 
Avenue,  twisting  before  and  behind  one  another,  seemingly 
in  danger  of  collision,  but  veering  off  to  marvelous  escapes. 
He  saw  aje  same  stream  in  the  distance,  up  and  down  Fifth 
Avenue  itself,  continuous,  continuous,  like  a  river  flowing 
two  ways  at  once,  and  giving  out  a  low,  monotonous 
rumble.  He  saw  the  flare  ctf  a  red  winter  sunset  at  the 
end  of  the  street,  over  the  trees  <rf  the  Park— the  descent 
of  darkness  through  the  air— the  occasional  lighting  of  a 
lamp.  He  saw  the  homing  of  sparrows  to  their  perches, 
and  heard  the  warbling  twitter  that  preceded  their  settling 
for  the  night.  He  saw  the  pedestrians  who  went  by--a 
butler,  smooth-shaven  and  smug,  a  lady  in  rich  furs,  a 
nurse-maid  with  three  children,  a  boy  with  a  bundle  of 
packages,  another  who  threw  the  evening  papers  into 
doorways,  two  smartly  dressed  giris  of  the  neighborhood, 
a  negro,  a  tramp.  M  these  inqtressions  registered  them- 
75 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

t^  h.v,  b«  only  ^eood..  thoogh  the  \i^^^ 

Jo^T^  whjch  he  WM  without  ttTopMity  for  ™^ 

I^  mind  c««  b-ck  ^tivdy  to  oS  it^- 

her    Sto  WW  th.  ««De  hrown  wlvet,  with  th.  «nie 

hjd  ooirfronted  hmx  m  the  lift.    The  muflE  wm  o£  m^ 

her  left  shoulder.  «nph«i«rf  the  dender  distinction  of 
her  figure  a.  she  walked.  A.  she  walked,  bTtito™^ 
^^of  g^en.  where  the  liningTS;  S;*^^^ 

«.'«wv«>d  what  he  felt  a.  the  almost  unbearable  tension 
in  h«  heart  to  be  able  to  answer  a  oo«Z3«e  qlS 

the  diurdj,  though  It  was  something  philanthiooic  The 
m^t^wj-tobeatMaggie'sbecal^SS^ 
hved  m  that  neighborhood,  and  her  house  wasT^ 
lowwn  headquarters  of  good  works.  ^  »  '"^I 

What  sort  of  good  worics  is  this?" 

d,^!!^"**.**"''"'*^  In  the  late  seventeen  hun- 
drrfs  some  worthy  citizens  of  New  York  h«l  foundeTa 
hofflefor  moomgibie  girls,  and  attached  to  it  a  pi^of 
2^  at  tl»t  time  of  small  value,  but  now  L  th^^ 

Si^lT;  .''r^  ^  ^°«»*  to  take  care  of^ 
Our^gttls.  to  which  number  at  any  one  time  they  were 

i  t^c!,^  "'^'  themselves,  and  come  out  at  the^ 

«f  two  o- three  years  as  useful  membeiB  of  the  community. 
7* 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Some  of  ibm  went  Iwdc  to  an  imctilar  life,  but  about 
eij^ty  per  cent,  nmuned  tnw  to  the  tmining  they  had 
iwetved,  generally  manying  and  settling  down. 

"Poorthingsl  And  what  malces  them  go  witmg  in  the 
fast  place?  Is  it  that  they"r-8he  seemed  to  find  some 
difficulty  in  fonnulating  her  question— "is  it  that  thw 
£■11  in  love?" 

"Not  generally— not  often.  Love,  as  a  matter  of  feet, 
has  very  UtUe  to  do  with  it.  They're  too  young,  as  a 
rule,  to  know  anything  about  it,  beyond  seme  sort  of 
vague  romantic  dream." 

She  walked  on,  without  looking  at  him.  "Then  what 
is  it?" 

"Bad  homes— bad  parents— bad  examples-loneliness 
often — poverty  always — " 

"So  that  it  isn't  really  their  fault." 

"Not  primarily.  It  is  their  fault  in  the  second  place, 
since  you  can't  take  responsibility  away  from  any  human 
individual;  and  yet — " 

"And  yet  you  can't  blame  them  much,  can  you?" 

"I  don't  bdieve  we  think  about  the  blame.  We're 
too  busy  finding  the  cure  to  dweU  on  the  way  the  patients 
have  caught  the  disease." 

"And  what  cure  do  you  find?" 

"Onecureisworic.  It  often  happens  that  girls  go  wrong 
from  sheer  lack  of  anything  to  do  in  which  they  can  take 
an  intwest.  Once  you've  given  them  intelligent  occupa- 
tion, it's  astonishing  what  a  change  comes  over  some  of 
them." 

^^  The  warmth  with  which  she  spoke  took  him  by  surprise. 
"  I  don't  see  that  it's  astonishing.  If  you  only  knew  what 
it  is  »w/  to  have  intelligent  occupation—" 

He  was  moved  to  ask,  "Do  you?" 
77 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


'^ly^i^ 


_^  ^PLIED  IIVHGE    In 

■^— -  16^3  Eost   Mom   Street 

--^g  Rochester.   Ne*  York         !4609       USA 

i^^  C^'6)   *82  -  0500  -  Phone 

=^  ('16)   288-  5989  -  Fo. 


■i  i 


4  ■* 


i 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

She  shot  him  a  ddewise  glance  in  answering.    "IVe 
Wny  do  you  emphasize  the  now?" 
awly.^"^  ^^^^'^  ^y  «>^  hope  you've  taken  it 

inlTuf.^^  knowledge  that  he  <»unted  for  anything 
m  her  hfe  brought  an  element  of  joy  into  his  amaz^t 

in  .\^  f°^^      {"^^^^  ^°  something,"  she  declared, 
in  a  tone  of  reproach,  "till  you  told  me  I  couldn't." 
lold  you  you  couldn't?    When?" 

tili'^i!  7'°^S  ^*  ^^^''  ^t  Maggie's.    You  said  that 
m  one  had  done  mipossible  things  for  oneself  one  couldn't 
do  anything  for  any  one  else." 
"Did  I  say  impossible  things?" 
"They're  impossible  to  me." 
'■How  do  you  know,  if  you  haven't  tried  them?" 
I  have  tried  them.    It's  the  bringing  every  thoueht 
mto  «ptivity-thafs  the  expression,  fen't  it^ 
Did  I  ever  tell  you  to  do  that?" 
In  some  confusion  she  stopped  short  before  a  flower- 
^<n>  near  the  com^  of  Fifty-ninth  Street.    "How  beau- 
taftil!    she  said,  rather  tremblingly.     "Things  are  already 
taghtemng  up  for  Christmas.    It  seems  temble  for  us  to 
be  enjoymg  ourselves,  doesn't  it?  when  there's  so  much 

re^.!f  •*'  *''°'=^^-"  ^^  '^^^°^  ^^bled  her  to 
regam  the  necessary  tone,  as  they  walked  on  again  "If 
^uhavw  t  said  it  in  so  many  words,  it's  what  I've  in- 
feired.  I  ve  heard  you  preach  a  good  many  times-" 
th.^:*  .w^  u^^  explaimtion.  "Even  so,  it's  not  any- 
^^^^^^'^l^awonipMshedeasilyorallatonce.    It's 

Having  to  run  counter  to  the  up^urrent  of  the  city's 
We,  they  were  separated  for  a  minute  or  two,  which  gave 
78 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

her  time  to  think  over  these  wonls.  When  they  had 
again  come  together  she  turned  on  him  suddenly  with  a 
fiercaiess  which  he  had  only  suspected  as  an  element  in 
her  character.  "How  should  you  feel  if  the  most  serious 
thmg  you  ever  had  to  think  about  was  dress?" 

He  laughed.  "I  suppose  I  should  feel  like  a  man  who 
has  neither  legs  nor  arms;  but  that  can't  be  your  situa- 
tion." 

"It  is — almost." 
_^_^"_0h,  but  only-almost.    That  lets  you  out,  doesn't 

"No,  because-"  She  hesitated  long,  pausing  again 
before  a  convenient  bookshop  in  a  way  that  made  him 
also  pause.  He  noticed  that,  for  the  first  time  since  he 
had  known  her,  her  eyes,  which  were  darker  than  hazel 
and  deep  with  a  baffling  profundity,  looked  straight  into 
his  own.  He  knew  she  wanted  to  tell  him  something  to 
make  a  confession;  but  he  knew,  too,  that  she  would  make 
It  only  m  suggestion,  leaving  him  to  draw  his  own  con- 
dusions  "No,"  she  repeated,  "because  the  only  serious 
thmg  I  have  to  think  about  I  don't  think  about  any  more 
...  I  shut  my  mind  to  it.  .  .  .  It's  no  use.  .  I've 
thought  about  it  so  much  ...  and  so  helplessly 
and  always  round  and  round  in  a  circle  ...  that  now 

At  least,"  she  went  on,  in  another  tone,  "it  would  be 

quite  useless  ...  my  thinking  about  it  ...  if  it  weren't 

for  .  .  .  some  of  the  things  you  said." 
Brfore  he  could  group  these  broken  phrases  together 

or  bnng  out  of  them  anything  like  coherent  sense,  she  had 

hastened  on  again  in  such  a  way  that  the  crowd  divided 

them  once  more. 
Though  there  were  but  a  few  paces  between  them  he 

made  no  eflfort  to  rejoin  her  tiU  he  had  pondered  on 
79 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

what  die  had  said.  The  inference  was  plain.  It  was  what 
he  had  suspected.  Maggie  Palliser  was  wrong  in  saying 
Clonnda  had  never  been  in  love.  She  had  been  in  love- 
and  unhappUy.  That  was  what  he  had  seen  in  her  from 
the  first;  it  was  the  something  heartbroken,  the  secret 
which  was  not  quite  a  secret,  she  had  been  trying  to 
conceal.  And  yet  the  truth  had  scarcely  come  home  to 
him  before  he  found  himself  tingling  in  every  nerve  at  the 
discovery  that  she  wanted  him  to  know  it 

He  had  allowed  her  to  keep  a  step  or  tw      .  advance  of 
him,  while  a  flying  wedge  of  pedestrians  intervened  be- 
tween them.    She  walked  so  swiftly  as  to  give  the  im- 
pression of  a  person  in  flight.     She  might  have  been  trying 
to  run  away  from  him,  or  from  something  in  her  thought 
When  he  was  again  beside  her,  she  spoke  rapidly  and 
without  looking  round. 
•'I  wonder  if  you  have  any  idea  as  to  what  I  mean?" 
"I  can  guess,"  he  returned,  quietly.    He  felt  himself 
pnvileged  to  add,  "I  rather  think  I  saw  it  from  the  first  " 
She  seemed  to  quicken  her  pace.     "I  thought  you  did 
From  that  very  ni^t  at  Maggie's  I  was  sure  you  could 
see  nght  through   me."    Before  he  could  take  these 
words  up  m  any  way,  she  said,  breathlessly:   "I'm  glad 
It's  the  more  kind  of  you  to  treat  me  as  you  have.    I— f 
shall  never  forget  it." 
lie  allowed  himself  to  say.  as  if  speaking  casually 
it  s  been  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  my  life  to  know 
you  at  all." 

She  gave  no  indication  of  having  heard  these  words 
gang  oa  to  say,  with  the  rapidity  of  subdued  excitement! 

But  I  ve  hved  through  it  now I've  Uved  some  of  it 

down  ...  not  all  of  it  ..  .  some  of  it  only  .        and 
if  you  could  go  on  helping  me  .  .    " 
80 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


"  If  I've  helped  you  in  any  way^" 
-nZ""'''^^^^  ""^  ^  """^  ^^y^  than  you  can  know 

"Well,  you  shall." 

"These  poor  girls,  for  example.  .  .  .  Don't  you  see' 

iittle""^'   <^«  ^"y*-g   for   them  .  .  .  howev^ 

He  thought  it  tactful  to  foUow  the  lead  with  which  she 

Sife  Z^:7  '"  °""  '^"^  ^'^^-^  '°  ~hS 
r  ZL    ^      ^  *  consequence.     "How  should  you  like 
to  come  and  see  them?    You  might  be  intet^ted." 
Uh,  if  I  might! 

tond.  Her«flected  for  a  few  seconds  before  making  his 
n«t  suggestion     "  I  go  to  talk  to  them  every  few  wiS 

Si'^r  r '*  "'^  *°  r^  *-•  ^^«  -^- 

I^^t,  u '  "*  "^  ^°*^  °^  *e  women  director- 
^^Z^Z  ^  «^  °^  *«^  with  the  girls  afterw^  fo; 
the  purpose  of  getting  to  know  them.  TTiey'll  r^lZ 
be  afraid  of  you  at  firet. "  prooaoiy 

;;Not  half  as  much  as  I  shaU  be  afmid  of  them." 

But  you  11  get  used  to  one  another;  and  then  you'U 

see  h^  shght  IS  the  diffei^ce  between  them  and  oni^." 

Oh.  but  I  see  that  now."  she  exclaimed,  with  what 

^almost  fervor.     "I'm  r«uiy-^y  to'lean,  ^ 

.^\^-  '^  ^"^  *""'-**  '««*  I  do-    They're 
v«y  touchmg.  m  their  way,  with  an  innocence  t^ 

persistem  spite  of  everything.    You  see  they're  aS^ui^J^J 

SSi.'"'  '"'  '*  ^^*  *^^  "'''-*  '^  -*  --eTlt 

So  they  passed  from  the  personal  topic  to  the  mot* 
8i 


"^HE   LIFtED  VEIL 

general,  and  after   crossing  Forty -second  Street  they 
scarcely  spoke  at  aU.    At  Thirty-ninth  Street  they  turned 
toward   Madison  Avenue,   stopping  before  one  of  the 
smaller  houses  on  the  slope  of  Murray  Hill.    As  it  was 
nearly  dark  by  this  time,  the  outer  vestibule,  into  which 
they  could  see  through  a  glass  door  protected  by  a  wrought- 
iron  grille,  was  lighted  up.    It  was  a  white  vestibule  that 
seemed  the  more  spotless  because  of  the  strip  of  red 
carpet  running  up  the  steps,  and  the  two  pointed  box- 
trees  in  tubs  in  the  comers.    Bainbridge  had  often,  as 
he  went  by,  looked  at  it  enviously.    It  seemed  a  fitting 
threshold  to  mark  the  home  of  one  so  exquisite,  so  simple, 
so  fastidious,  so  pure,  so  much  the  soul  in  search  of  the 
higher  things  while  remaining  a  woman  of  the  world.    At 
the  same  time  it  was  like  a  barrier  which  he  had  stiU 
to  pass.    Others  went  in  and  out  over  it  for  vhom  it  had 
no  meaning.    For  him  it  had  a.  meaning;  perhaps  it  had 
a  meaning,  too,  for  her.    He  guessed  this  when  in  bi-.ding 
him  good-by  she  said:   "I  can't  ask  you  to  come  in,  be- 
cause you'U  be  late  for  your  meeting.     I'm  afraid  you'll 
be  late  as  it  is—"  and  yet  refrained  from  asking  him  to 
come  on  any  subsequent  occasion. 

"But  it  can't  be  because  she  doesn't  want  me,"  he 
declared  to  himself,  as  he  called  a  taxi  to  take  him  back 
to  Sixty-ninth  Street.  He  added,  with  that  thumping 
of  the  he^Tt  which  gave  him  again  a  feeling  of  inner 
faintnes,!,  "It's  because  she  does." 


CHAPTER  VI 

E^S*^  ^  afternoon  in  the  week  before  Christmas 
V^il^2^^\^"i  ''*^°«  ^"»°  ^  b'^^^  visit  to 

h^  .Vf.    ^-  f  '^'^  ^^'"  '''^°  ^*  ^*  their  backs  to 
hrni  at  the  <hstant  end.    Timl.  idle,  and  happy  in  his 

S  r  ?;  1^  T'^'T'  """^  °«-i«^y  -closed  to 
eyes  To  make  himself  more  comfortable,  he  nulled 
round  the  r^volving-chair  in  front  of  him.  in  or^SI 
foot  on  a  while  he  tried  to  doze.  On  tile  seat  tt^ky  ^ 
LTat  tS.:.^^-  1-1  left  behind  him  on  ,.tll 
It  was  a  journal  which  Bainbridge  recognized  at  once 

Mi2  ^d  <iL^T^'^  ^  ^'^''^  «"5^h«^  between 

r^  and  Seattle  or  Bangor  and  Los  Angeles.    In  all 

^of  E,^ope  where  Americans  congregate  it  wa^  aS 

touch  with  his  compatriots  at  home  P"«J"ai 

n,^r  !,  ""^  •*  'PP^^  ^  Chicago,  and  was  of  a 
m^^atidekvatmg  character  sustained  with  a  great  big 
«anly  heartmess.  Its  aim  was  briefly  indicatefTy  ttf 
motto  on  Its  btle-page.  "  The  whoU  truth,  and  nothing  i*,/ 
/«*  <^««^"  to  which  it  adhered  as  strictly  as.  tea  worid 
where  truth  is  such  an  elusive  quaUty.  Lid  ha^^ 
83 


!l 


!*' 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

expected.    T*^  style  was  bluff  and  trenchant,  and  at  the 
same  time  confidential.    It  could  be  as  light  as  a  feather 
m  Its  persiflage,  and  as  fierce  as  Jeremiah  in  its  castigations 
It  had  a  way,  too,  of  taking  the  reader  to  its  heart  and 
g^^^ng   him   that   sense   of   self-importance   which   the 
fledgling  gets  w  -m  the  man-about-town  sits  beside  him 
m  the  smoking-room  and  tells  him  piquant  anecdotes. 
By  talking  to  yon  familiarly  of  other  people's  sins  it 
brought  your  own  virtues  into  prominence,  while  assuring 
you  that  within  its  columns  you  were— sin  or  no  sin  f— 
in  very  select  company.    No  organ  could  have  been  more 
characteristic  of  a  democratic  country,  since  by  its  means 
the  veriest  outsider  could  feel,  as  the  English  like  to  put  it, 
"m  the  know."    Being  in  the  know  meant  being  in  the 
secrets  of  wealthy  or  distinguished  persons,  whose  hearts, 
for  a  multipUdty  of  reasons,  nught  be  otherwise  shut 
against  you.    The  same  useful  gift  that  enabled  the 
prophet  to  ten  the  King  of  Israel  what  the  King  of  Syria 
whispered  in  his  bedchamber  made  it  possible  for  this 
particular  periodical  to  keep  a  passionately  interested 
pubhc  informed  of  flirtations,  escapades,  and  scandals 
qmte  as  soon  as  the  principals  themselves  knew  they  were 
involved  in  them.    The  interval  between  the  crime  amd 
the  ch«Mucle  was  scarcely  longer  than  that  between  the 
hghtnmg  and  the  thunder,  if  it  was  as  long.     Indeed, 
there  had  been  instances  when  the  chronicle  had  come 
before  the  crime,  nuOdng  the  prophetic  analogy  even  more 
exact. 

It  was  not  often  that  Bainbridge  scanned  these  para- 
graphs, but  he  did  it  now,  not  from  interest  in  their  con- 
tents so  much  as  from  ennui  and  a  vague  amusement.  He 
was  still  turning  the  pages  listlessly,  and  with  an  inward 
smile,  when  his  attention 


84 


attracted  by  a  name.    It 


THE    LIFTED   VEIL 

was  a  name  which  at  first  merely  danced  before  him 
without  context  or  coherence  with  the  lines  in  which  it 
occurred.    He  required  a  few  seconds  to  get  his  eves 

gie  for  most  of  her  five-and-thirtv  vears  havp  h,^  — ~L,I- 
^at  she  shouldn't  always  be  atl^  t'oTe  ?rd^trvri^,fe 
toher  apnm-stnngs  „y  one  with  the  social  insf^^ht  W 
been  able  to  foretell.    I  saw  them  at  the  Cloudsleys^  on  ti^e 

and  a  husband  more  bored  or  a  wife  more  suspiciouTit  hL'"v«: 
been  my  lot  to  contemplate.  It  is  a  pity,  I  think,  that^S 
people  diould  air  then-  jealousies  in  public;   but  then  X^ 

te  ^^  "  *^P*'-  ^""^  *~'  '^^  ^  certain  iTteSr 
daj^ed  woman  IS  ^ain  in  New  York  we  may  look  for  SSc 

B^nbridge  read  this  composition,  firet  with  amaaement 
aad  then  with  incr«lulity.  His  chief  misgiving  was  as  to 
the  am^ounc  of  circulation  such  gossip  would  receive.    That 

T*^  ^^  ^^  ^^  "°  •*°"b*-  That  among  Leslie's 
and  Maggie  s  extensive  acquaintance  there  would  be  few 
who  would  not  believe  them  to  be  at  variance  before  the 
week  was  out  was  all  too  probable.    That  Maggie,  were 

Jh.tb°  T  '*'  "^^^  ^  ^'""'y  ^°«^  ^'h  Leslie, 
whether  he  was  to  blame  or  not,  was  the  result  he  held 

^.r*^  What  he  feared  was  her  own  humiliation. 
Whether  true  or  false,  these  statements  would  wound  her  to 
the  quick.  Proud  and  high-handed,  but  quiveringiy  sen- 
sitive where  UsHe  was  concerned,  she  would  not  get  over 
the  effect  for  years.    She  might  never  get  over  it  at  aU 

Before  mghtfall  he  had  an  opportunity  to  test  his 
apprehensions.    As  it  was  his  duty  to  report  to  Doctor 
8S 


H^ 


r 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Galloway  what  had  happened  in  Philadelphia,'he  caUed  at 
the  rectory  immediately  on  returning  to  New  York  The 
rector  was  not  at  home;  but  Mrs.  and  Miss  Galloway  were 
m  the  drawing-room  knitting  for  the  Red  Cross  Gifts 
of  St.  Mary  Magdalen's  being  lavished  on  the  church 
rather  than  on  the  rectory,  the  room  was  worn  without 
being  shabby,  while  there  had  been  littie  or  no  attempt 
to  harmonize  colors  and  styles  according  to  the  modem 
teste  m  furnishing.  It  was  cheerful,  however,  with  a 
fire  cm  the  hearth,  and  a  soft,  bright  spot  thrown  out  by 
an  electric  lamp  through  a  veUum  shade  painted  in 
fruits  and  flowers. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  Bainbridge  to  introduce  the  sub- 
ject on  his  mind,  to  which  Mrs.  GaUoway  responded  in  a 
deep  contralto  that  was  ahnost  bass. 

"I  don't  allow  such  stuflE  to  lie  about.  My  own  copy 
never  leaves  my  room,  through  fear  of  its  falling  into  the 

hands  of  the  servants." 
A  dimpling,  dumpling,  little  bundle  of  a  woman,  her 

former  prettiness  was  scarcely  marred  by  an  eyeUd  that 

drooped  lower  than  its  feUow  and  a  mole  with  a  tuft 

of  hair  at  the  comer  of  the  upper  lip. 

..  y^,'  ^  *°  ^^^  servants,"  Miss  Galloway  lepUed 
tiiey  ve  generally  a  copy  of  their  own.    I  often  see  it 

when  I  go  to  the  kitchen." 
Bainbridge  felt  his  fears  confirmed.    "I  was  afraid  it 

was  rather  widely  read." 
"  It's  a  sin  and  a  shame,"  came  with  mock  severity  from 

Mrs.  GaUoway.    "People  ought  to  boycott  the  thing 

Then  they'd  stop  printing  it." 
"Why  don't  you  do  that  yourself,  mother?" 
"What  would  be  the  use  of  my  doing  it  when  other 

people  wouldn't?" 

86 


THE   LIFTED   '  EIL 

"You'd  be  one  reader  the  less." 

"I  shouldn't  care  anything  about  that."  She  turned 
Wd  Bambndee  with  a  coquettish  wayward  toss  of  the 
W.  She  was  accustomed  to  being  the  center  of  the 
worn.       What  are  you  gomg  to  do  with  a  woman  like 

TJJr''^  T  *  "^^  ^'*  '^^  ^'"'t  '«fonn.  I'm 
a  stone  around  my  husband's  neck,  and  a  shocking  example 
to  my  daughter.  But  what  can  any  one  do?"  ^^^^^'^ 
Mary  GaUoway  smiled  gently  and  distantly,  her  eyes 
on  her  needles.  "They  can  only  aUow  y,^  to  ^a 
pnvUeged  character,  mother  dear."    She  leaned  forward 

IwTT'  .  "'  ''"'"'''  ''°'^-  "^^'  ^^i  ^  you 
domg?    You  re  not  purling  already?" 

M^.  Galloway  laughed  with  an  irresponsibiUty  that 
s^ed  to  come  from  tipsiness  because  of  the  droop  of 

^V"  u;  T.7/°'  "^  "^  '^^'  everlasting  knitting  stUch. 
I  thought  I'd  do  something  different  " 

The  daughter  took  the  work  into  her  o^vn  hands.  "  It 
wm  all  have  to  come  out,  right  down  to  there  " 

During  the  task  of  readjustment  to  which  Mrs.  GaUo- 
way submitted  her  work  without  protest,  chuckling  like  a 
nauguty  child,  Bainbridge  had  time  to  notice  the  change 
that  had  come  over  the  girl  during  the  past  month  or  two. 

niJ^,^'?  *'°=  ^^  '°°''^  *^-  Some  of  her 
pretty  color  had  wasted  away,  an^  her  eyes,  in  which  there 
had  always  been  a  sparkle  of  fun,  seemed  to  have  grown 

^"^^^'^  ^""^  '"'^'"-  The  dash  of  disdair  had 
gone  from  her  manner,  its  place  being  taken  by  a  listless- 

LTsiHT°'!,r''f  ^^  f"^^  ^^  ^^  ^<^  ^i^  that 
subsided  suddenly,  as  if  she  forgot  to  keep  them  up. 

Z^^l  ^^  "^T^  °^  *^^  ^^"^^^^  ^^  had  entertained 

Qonnda  Gildersleeve  had  dispelled  them,  it  comforted 
87 


ill 


THE    LIFTED   VEIL 

him  to  think  that  the  change  could  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him. 

As  she  unraveled  her  mother's  work  he  reverted  to  the 
topic  of  the  Pallisers.  "Of  course  no  one  who  knows 
L^ie  and  Maggie  will  take  such  rubbish  seriously—" 

"I  Shan,"  Mrs.  Galloway  interrupted,  gaily.  "I  be- 
lieve it    I'm  prepared  to  accept  the  woret." 

"It's  no  more  than  has  been  said  about  a  good  many 
other  people,"  Miss  Galloway  observed. 

"And  who  can  possibly  be  the  contributors?  They 
must  be  people  with  some  means  of  knowing  what  goes 
on." 

As  he  spoke  his  glance  encountered  Miss  Galloway's; 
and  it  was  perhaps  because  each  read  the  mind  of  the 
other  that  they  looked  hastfly  away.  Mrs.  Galloway 
laughed  with  chuckling  gaiety. 

_  "How  do  you  know  I'm  not  one?  I'd  write  for  them 
if  they'd  pay  me  weU  enough— and  give  them  their 
money's  worth." 

"If  Maggie  stays  at  home,"  Mary  Galloway  remarked, 
her  eyes  on  her  knitting,  "she's  sure  to  hear  of  it.  She 
mayn't  read  the  thing  herself— every  one  isn't  so  keen 
on  the  higher  Uteratuie  as  mothei^but  some  kind  friend 
will  let  it  out.  If  Leshe  could  only  be  persuaded  to  take 
her  away  over  Christmas!  I  know  she's  out  of  sorts, 
and  rather  dreading  the  big  family  party  they'll  have  to 
go  to  at  somebody's  house.  Leslie  could  be  tired,  too, 
and  make  it  an  excuse  for  spending  the  hoUday  at  Aiken 
or  White  Sulphur  Springs.  I'd  drop  him  the  hint  if  I 
knew  him  well  enough." 

On  reflection  it  seemed  a  wise  step  to  take.    Returning 
to  his  house,  therefore,  he  telephoned  t(}  Palliser,  asking 
him  to  look  in  on  him  during  the  evening,  should  he  find 
88 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

hinseU  without  an  engagement.    S«mmoning  Wedlock, 
he  c«™n«ioned  Wm  to  go  out  and  buy  the  cLnTS 
of  the  journal  which  had  cauaeH  «,  ™..  i,  /  •    1, 
turbation.  ^^  ^  ""^  ^*"«"y  P«- 

Wedlock  shuffled,  proceeding  to  hem  and  haw     The 

KhtSLd^"f"^  ^'^'-  '^''^  °"  toward  miS 
^n^^  f  '^T"^  ,*"  gulf  that  parted  master 

aTLr^no.  L  ""^^^  "^"  ^  '«'^-  ^'"  he  began 
at  last,  not  meamng  any  offense,  or  to  take  a  hS 
that  you  might  be  against  my  taking,  in  r  mS 

2  rlJ^a^'f.- '-^  "  ^  ^'^  °«-<^  y-.    ~ 

V^2:i'"1^S;^  y-  Pl«e  oc  ^d  me.  either. 
■^eU.  sir  me  and  Mrs.  Wedlock,  not  wishing  to  be 
more  mtm^te  with  our  betters  than  we've  a  right  to  te- 
but  seeing  we're  in  service,  in  a  mam«^  of  epLkine  ^ 
hW,  to  know  whafs  what,  and  how  our  .SS^"^« 


"Weu'^r'^r  '^'  ^'?  ^'  *  ~Py  '°  '^^  house?" 
well  Mr,  m  a  manner  of  speaking,  yw-that  is  if  if 

wouldn't  bealiberty  or  takeme out  of  m?^i^..'  "^  '* 
heir'^itT?fi*'"^'^''"'^*<«eht.  Aloud 
he^said.     Then  lend  It  to  me.    It  wiU  save  your  going 

"Have  you  seen  this?" 

tl.!fr^7"^'""°'°^^'-"'^^'''°-  Never  read 
^Z. Z '^27^'  ''^'^  ^'  «-^  -«  -ho  has 

TTbey  were  sitting  in  Bainbridge's  study,  in  the  same 
rdabve  portions  and  chairs  which  he  and  kalooto  (^ 
had  occupied  neariy  two  yeare  before.        """"^  ^'^"t 

'  89 


TH5   LIFTED   VEIL 

"Then  you'd  better  look  at  it" 
Palliser,  who  had  Ughted  a  cigaiette,  paused,  with  the 
niatch    still    burning    between    his    fingers.    "There's 
nothing  in  it  about  me,  is  there?" 

Bainbridge  passed  the  journal  to  his  friend,  the  para- 
graph marked  in  pencil.    "You  can  see  for  yourself." 

Putting  his  cigarette  to  his  lips  at  intervals,  while  he 
blew  out  Ught  puffs  of  smoke,  Palliser  scanned  the  lines 
rapidly.  Bainbridge  watched  the  cloud  descend  on  the 
romantic  face,  though  the  sudden  erclamation  at  the 
end  took  him  by  surprise. 

"My  God!  Who  could  have  got  hold  of  that?" 
Das'aing  the  paper  to  his  knee,  he  crumpled  it  in  his  hand. 
But  the  expression  changed  instantly,  becoming  guarded 
and  alert.  "I  mean,"  he  began  to  stammer,  "what  are 
they— what  are  they  trying  to  put  over  on  us?" 

The  revelation  Bainbridge  had  received  was  so  much 
more  than  he  was  expecting  that  for  a  minute  or  two  he 
was  at  a  loss  as  to  what  to  say.  "You  don't  mean  to  tell 
me,"  he  asked,  finding  it  difficult  to  put  the  question 
mto  words,  "that  there's— there's  truth  in  it?" 

Palliser  answered,  absently:  "No,  no;  that  is—  Well, 
perhaps  if  I  said—"  He  broke  off  impatiently.  "Oh," 
hang  it  all,  Arthur!  This  is  New  York.  What  do  you 
suppose?" 

Bainbridge  took  his  time.    "Well,  I  hadn't  supposed 

thai,"  he  said,  simply,  when  he  could  articulate  the  woids. 

Palliser's  thoughts  again  went  wandering.    "No,  no- 

you  wouldn't."    He  burst  out  eagerly:  "If  I  can  only 

keep  Maggie  from  hearing  about  it!    I  don't  mind  for 

myself— the  gossip  and  that  kind  of  lot-but  Maggie's 

another  matter." 

"Quite  so;  it's  why  I  asked  you  to  come  round  this 

90 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


S^bet^h  *^  ^^i*" '""^^  «>*  to  distinguish 
Sed  ti^tZiJ^f  '^-  *^y'  "'  took  it  for 

Maggie  and  ^^e'  J^^'^'Zr'^^ 
not  iealou^t  least,  not  moreZnl^lJ^^ 

permanent.    That  s  pure  invention." 

^^5.s:.t^^twe-."^.^i^^  ^ 

Sut^ra.d°'..^^*^^^''-^She^^ 

Ies^y'Z^*S:'^"-^^r  -<^  ^«-  to  pacerest- 

Bambridge's   eyes  foUowed  him.    "You  m««   ti,  * 
there  is  this-this  otijer  woman^  ^°  *^* 

Palliser  came  to  a  standstiH  in  the  shadow  of  the  h«o!r 
cas««i  the  other  side  of  the  «x>m.    hZZ^^: 

ifrii"*^  *^'"  ^^"^  <^«'««i.  husMy.  "because 
^"^  ir?'^'"^^'^«>forth,^y^^ 

«««•    Thought  it  w«  not  ^only  dead  aS^^S 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

ttat  nobody  knew  it  had  ever  been  alive.  Howthedevil 
this  confounded  rag  can  have  got  hold  of  it— " 

"When  once  you  chooae  to  do  that  sort  of  thing.  Leslie, 
you  never  know  who—"  ^^  ^^ 

he  had  teten  refuge.  "I  didn't  choose  to  do  that  sort 
<rfth«g  he  mt«rupted.  fiercely.  "I  never  though^rf 
It.    Neither  did  she.    It-it  flared  up." 

Jl^JTf^^  r^  °^  "P  "^^  th**'"  something 
out  of  which  to  make  a  fire?" 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  Bainbridge's  mouth  be- 
fore  it  came  to  hm»  that  he  had  used  them  on  some 
«mdar  occasion.  He  had  used  them,  too,  in  response  to 
some  such  remark  as  this.    When?    Where?    Therecol 

^^^T."^-  Z*-"^— S^thaS^a 
memoty-that  n«y  be  a  hint  of  a  previous  existence  or 
no  more  than  something  imagined  or  dreamed.  For  the 
-ist^t  he  had  no  time  to  give  to  it.  since  Palliser  went  on: 

^°:  ^  ^^  «y  notWnS  does  flare  up  unless  there's 

«^thmg  cut  of  which  to  make  a  fire.^bnt  at  p^ 
tibatsnot^po«t    The  fire  is  ottt-to  all  intents  and 

^^^.  What  I've  got  to  p«mde  against  is  Maggie's 
seeing  there  are  ashes."  ^^ 

B^hridgepetceivBdhisopportunity.    "Whyshouldn't 
you  take  her  away— over  Christmas?" 

»JT'^*!!!fT^^*^**'^  Wherever  she  went  she'd 
see  this  cursed  thmg  in  the  bookstalls  for  another  week." 

c«JZ  r^^.^J^  from  that,  and  by  the  time  you 

came  back  you'd  find  that  no  one  had  paid  it  any  attenC 

™  ^^^^^^v!^^-  K  ««y  *>.  and  Maggie  dis- 
covers there  has  been  an  actress  in  your  life-" 

PaU«er  came  forward,  resolutely,  throwing  his  half- 
smoked  cigarette  mto  the  fire.    "I  think  ra  be  off.    But 

93 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

before  I  go  Arthur.  I've  a  favor  to  ask  you.  Don't-" 
He  s^ned  huag  up  for  words,  or  for  the  eMct  thought  he 
was  trjong  to  express.  " Don't, "  he  began  again,  "don't 
say  anything  to  me  about-^bout  the^the  aLi-tm  I 

W  Tr..*^,^^-,  ■  ^'  ^'''  ■"  °^'  y^  ""iei^tand- 
a^any'^^t^.^  ""  "^*  ^  '^"^  y«--*  ^^^  -h^e. 

••  A^r"'!!!'^  ?*•  ''^'^  a  haad  on  his  friend's  shorider. 
AU  nght,  Lashe.    I  shaU  nev«-  speak  of  it  unless  you  do; 

^^t  I  sha  n  t  keep  xt  a  secret  ftom  you  that  I'm  thinking  a 

Th^  were  in  the  h«a,  where  Palliaer,  who  had  thtxm. 
a  handsome  fur  coat  over  his  dinner-jacket,  stood  thought- 
ful and  somber  and  more  than  ever  ornamental.    Sud- 
d«Uy  he  looked  up.    "Ani«,,"  he  exd«med.  sharply, 
don't  get  married!"  -"^pty, 

Bainteidgewte  taken  by  surprise.    "What  makes  you 
thmk  I  ve  any  idea  of  doing  it?" 

buf-S^rT^^T^*^*^-  "Never  mind  that; 
w  V?         i-    ^"""^  ^^  *="««'»  ofif  as  you  are." 

Mded.  Or  If  you  do-many  Mary  Galloway  She 
was  cut  out  for  you."  "«aoway.    ane 

Brfote  he  could  make  any  retort  to  this  Bainbridee 
fo^  ^  alon.    Going  beck  to  his  study,  he  f ell lo 

^^\.-"u  '^^  *'•  '*«^  against  the  mantel- 
piece w,th  bs  back  to  the  dying  fiie.  He  was  leckoning 
up  the  tame.    It  was  all  over.  Leslie  had  said,  three  yeail 

first  few  months  m  which  he  himself  had  been  at  St. 
Mary  Magdalen's,  at  the  very  time  when  LesUe  had  be«n 
Aowmg  so  much  interest  in  all  that  affected  the  parish 
life.  He  could  do  that-he  could  seem  to  Uve  hjppily 
9i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

with  Maggie-^  could  seem  to  be  *t  peace  with  Us 
«»faence-and  stiU  be  keeping  up  an  afiair  that  had 
plainly  cut  deeply  into  his  heart,  -ith  some  one  on  the 
stage.  Bambridge  wondered  how  men  who  were  not 
depmvect-as  Leslie  certainly  was  not-could  combine 
blrads  of  conduct  so  incongruous.  K  there  was  any 
pafliation  of  the  guilt  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  had  not 
been  a  matter  of  premeditation.    It  had  flared  up 

He  was  thrown  ba«k  on  that  elusive,  tantalizing  memory 
^ese  words  had  certainly  been  spoken  to  him  once 
before,  and  m  circumstances  that  bore  a  resemblance  to 
those  of  thw  evening.  But  when-«id  whete-and  by 
whom?  ' 

And  yet  as  he  searched  his  recollections  of  the  past 
four  years  his  mind  revolted  against  the  '-ask.  It  was 
hke  gomg  back  into  a  jungle,  stifling,  smothering,  mias- 
matic. So  much  had  been  told  him!  So  many  hearts 
had  been  ponied  into  his!  Had  he  not  had  wholesome 
counter-agents  within  himself-had  he  not  been  able  to 
disruss  and  forget— he  must  have  been  sickened,  poisoned 
by  the  mflow  of  nauseating  confidence. 

In  the  end  he  gave  the  effort  up.  He  did  so  not  from  . 
lack  of  mterest  in  the  matter,  but  because  he  dropped 
again  into  his  arm-chair  to  indulge  in  happy  dreams 
They  were  dreams  of  Clorinda  Gildersleeve,  whom  on  the 
next  day,  at  her  own  invitation,  he  was  to  see  for  the  first 
tmie  at  home. 


I 


CHAPTER  VII 

yo  pass  the  white  vestibule,  with  its  strip  of  red  carpet 
*   Mid  Its  two  pointed  box-trees,  was  to  Bainbridge  as 
the  falfitaent  of  a  ceremonial  rite.    The  man  who  ad- 
mitted him  was  in  keeping  wi^i  the  admirable  neatness 
Of  the  entry,  correct,  cadaverous,  lantem-jawed,  needing 
only  the  touch  of  powder  in  the  hair  to  make  the  visits 
fed  he  was  m  London.    Within,  all  was  fresh,  immaculate 
and  spacious,  whUe  the  footfall  was  soundless  on  soft  red 
carprt  hke  the  strip  outside,  adding  warmth  to  what  was 
already  reotful.    One  blue-green  bit  of  Flemish  tapestry 
and  one  fuU-length  portrait  that  might  have  been  a 
CSainsborough  reUeved  the  white  panehng  of  a  hall  from 
which  a  hbrary  at  the  front  of  the  house  and  a  dining-room 
at  the  back  were  dimly  revealed.   On  the  first  low  landing 
of  tte  s-airs  was  an  ebony  Chinese  pedestal  on  which 
stood  a  celadon  Chinese  jar. 

Bainbridge  knew  finer  houses  in  New  York,  but  none  that 
gave  this  unpression  of  spotlessness  and  simpUdty.  He 
was  not  m  the  habit  of  observing  such  details,  and  did  it 
now  mamly  because  the  setting  so  beautifully  suited  the 
equisite  soul  who  dwelt  within  it.  It  was  with  a  pal- 
patatang  sense  of  reverence  that  he  followed  the  footman 
to  the  drawing-room  up-stairs. 

As  he  had  looked  forward  to  seeing  Clorinda  alone,  he 
was  disappointed,  on  reaching  the  upper  floor,  to  hear 
95 


ii 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

^^;  ^"*  i  *^  white^d-gold  expanse  of  the 
draw.ng.r<«m  bemg  visible  ft«n  the  staii^w^itSf  te 

J^hat  Uy  on  tables  and  hung  over  the  b^^  chairs. 
He  could  hear  her  say.  in  her  silvery  staccato-  "OhW 
^^.•^^-    ^<^'*^they11i?i* 

rvS'l"'^  r*^'  ^•"^^y^    '"^•'  P°«  things!    It's 

With  the  words  she  ntnwvt  mf^  ^'.i>_. 
t^ng  fihny  thing  ofTtSVuTclf'^I^^^S 
arW^«alKght.  A  g<Al  thread  running  ^Xt^S 
and  there  gleamed  in  the  «rftened  electridtrbne  bS 
^  of  otange-or  was  it  fin.?-^ck  a,^  ^  S 
P^or  of  the  sidn,  beW  the  opening  at  the  amTt.lS 

lacked  the  prehminaiy  lode  of  fear  ^^ 

"Howdoyoado?  I  hoped  you'd  come.  Mary  is  here 
We  re  lookmg  at  the  presents  I've  got  for  the^  SrS 
flsat  home  of  which  you  wcr  telling  n»  I^™! 
w<»'t  say  they're  too  good  for  then^iCwiy ^  ^"^ 

y^th'^r^  "^  ^J^  """"^  "P  Bainhridge 
was  obhged  to  accommodate  himself  to  conditions  T 
mentably  ^er«t  fn«.  those  to  which  he  l^t^oot 
mg    forward.     He,    too.    inspected    blouses,  Teat^ 
handkercnefs  gloves,  doing  hi.  best  to  seem  enth^SS' 
but  secreUy  dissatisfied.    Obscurely  he  felt  as  if  7^" 
had  been  played  upon  him-had  heLn  ablet  at^S 
any  such  act  to  the  woman  he  loved-^a  he  was  no^  fiS 
from  the  impression  that  Mary  Galloway's  disa^S  ^ 
^  to  has  own.    She  was  undoubtedly  dkSTy  to 
oatmng.  and  perhaps  displeased.    Befo^  th  ^  S  ^ 
96 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

^roual  of  the  pr«8entB  she  began  adjusting  her  veil 
•ndj  itting  on  her  gioves. 

"Oh.  bat  you're  not  gobg."  Qorinda  protested.  "  You 
•aid  you'd  have  tea." 

'.r^rP^LT^*^   ^  '***  ^  ^^  wrist. 

f«n-Im  afraid  I  sha'n't  hare  time,  after  aU.  Mother 
wui  be  expecting  me  home,  and—'-' 

Moving  in  her  gentle,  stately  way  to  the  beU,  Qorinda 
put  her  finger  on  the  button.    "Then  we'U  have  it  at 

"ttoutit'^"^^'^'^^^°°*^«'W^y 

So  tte  minutes  to  which  Bainbridge  had  been  looking 

forward  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  epoch  in  his  life  thread 

TyJ°  ^T^^  °^^  "^"*«'-    Th«y  '^.  m  fact, 
a  htae  below  the  level  of  other  minutes,  since,  in  the 
potate    conversation  that  ensued,  he  was  reduced  to  the 
proportions  of  the  tea^drinldng  curate  of  the  stage     He 
foresaw,  too   that  when  Mary  Galloway  rose  courtesy 
wouldoompel  haa  to  dothe  same,  and  that,  as  their  wa,^ 
lay  together,  he  should  walk  up  Fifth  Avenue  in  her 
oompaay.    He  would  have  had  no  objection  to  her  com-   • 
paay  had  It  not  been  for  the  odd  feeling  of  embarrassment 
whi^  had  crept  unexplainaUy  between  them.    Though 
for  tius  he  couldn't  Wame  himself,  he  was  not  free  frwn 
ttat  umeasonable  sense  of  guilt  which  a  woman's  silent 
t>«iwg  can   mipoee  upon  a  man   who   has   nothing 
whatever  on  his  conscience.    It  was  almost  as  if^ 
knew,  what  she  could  not  possibly  have  known,  that 
he  might  have  been  in  love  with  her  by  now.  if  Clorinda 
naon  t  mtervened. 

fhT^l^^^T^  **^*  ^^  ^  "°  """^  °^  P««^g.  beyond 

Z^  ^    ^  "^"^  "^""^  to  keep  to  friendly 

superfiaahbes.    He  wondered  if  she  was  b^inning  to 

97 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

divine  ,Hiat  ma  in  his  heart  and  was  gtawu^  a&aid  of 

it    Was  die  backing  out?    Was  she  naming  awav? 

Was  she  hi<tog  behind  Mary  GaUoway?    Was  she  saying 

to  hnn  taatly,  as  Leslie  had  said  on  the  previous  nieht^ 

Many  Mary  GaUoway.    Sh*  was  cut  out  for  you     I 

was  not.      Of  course  she  was  not!    As  to  that  he  had 

never  been  under  an  iUusion.    That  she  should  stoop  to 

a  humdrum  parson  like  himself  was  scarcely  among 

possitehtjes.    If  he  cherished  a  hope  for  it-«  hope  tha* 

was  scarcely  a  hope-it  was  only  because  of  that  agitation 

«i  her  part,  whenever  he  was  near,  which  a  woman  be- 

taBys  OTly  when  a  man  speaks  to  the  emotional  within 

n«-.    Had  he  not  at  one  minute  caught  her  eyes  in 

what  became  on  his  side  a  long,  demanding,  imperious 

look  to  which  she  returned  some  cryptic,  untranslatable 

response,  he  would  have  made  up  his  mind  that  she 

wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 

With  the  vital  thoughts  elsewhere  they  were  talking  of 
boofa  and  plays  and  a  recent  engagement  when  a  peal  at 
ttedoor-beU  rang  startlingly  through  the  house.  Before 
tte  door  could  be  opened  the  peal  was  followed  by  an- 
ofter.  more  violent  and  prolonged.  Mary  Galloway 
broke  off  m  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to  look  at  Qorinda. 
Ocmnda  kwked  at  Bainbridge  and  grew  pale.  It  was  as 
If  she  had  been  expecting  something  which  might  now 
have  come  to  pass.  "What  can  that  be?"  she  munnured- 
bu  tiie  question  was  so  faint  as  to  do  no  more  than  pass' 

T^ey  Ustened  while  a  woman's  voice  exchanged  a  few 
WOTds  with  the  footman,  after  which  came  a  rushing 
swish  of  skirts  on  the  stairway.  "It's  Maggie."  Mary 
Galloway  said,  under  her  breath.  "No  one  else  would 
come  in  like  that." 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Before  Bainbridge  could  reach  the  haU  Ma«ri-  h„r^ 

b^^g  about  «e."  she  declared,  in  a  voice  loud  wiS 

^ehmdher  veUhc.  facewasred,  while  her  hat  had  been 
StSr^'^  on  too  hastily  getting  into  her 
S^oTr  Her  eyes  were  brilhant  and  wild,  like 

tho»e  of  a  woman  under  the  influence  of  stimulante^ 
dru^M^  Galloway,   who  alone  :«nained  seatej 

."^°\^''^'''°'*^^-M'^SPedtax.  We've  been  talk- 
2ofthenewplayattheGramercy.  Do  cor^^^t 
down  Md  let  Qorinda  give  you  a  cup  of  tea '-^ 

AsBambridge  drew  up  a  chair  for  her,  Maarie  ad- 
vanced a  step  or  two  into  the  «K»n,  but  ag^inS  tf a 

hatS-t'Sofr^*  ^  "^  ""•'  *»^«  '^»-*  «»^^ 

stiiSnX'^S^r  kS^^^"  "^^^^  ^<"^' 

not  really.    I  vie  been  to  see  Claribel  Jairott-" 
^•c*      JTf  ^'"  S^bridge  broke  in,  "I  shouldn't  be 
distressed  by  anything  Mrs.  Endsleigh  Janott  Zttou^ 
any  one^    She's  the  type  of  womTwho  is  nev^C^ 
unless  she's  making  mischief."  ^^ 

"^?^t!"'  ^?^  something,"  Mrs.  PaUiser  insisted 
^ae^e  as  ,f  you  aU  knew  it-as  if  it  was  tbe^K 

99 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"If  Mn.  Jarrott  knows  anything  ihe  liiould  tdl  yon 
plainly."  Bainbridge  said,  soothincly,  "or  leave  the  mb- 
ject  alone." 

Maggie  turned  round  to  faim  fiercely.  "I  know  what 
Claribel  Jarrott  is.  You  don't  have  to  tell  me.  But 
that  doesn't  affect  the  point,  if  anything's  being  kept  &om 
me  about  Leslie  that  I  ought  to  know^" 

"Nothing  is  being  kept  from  you  that  you  ought  to 
know — "  Bainbridge  began  again. 

"Well,  then,  that  I  mtgU  know--that  you.  know^that 
everybody  knows." 

"Maggie  dear,"  Mary  Galloway  said,  gently,  "no  one 
knows  anything,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  that  you  don't 
know  yourself.  If  you're  gdng  to  work  yjurself  up  over 
every  idle  tale — " 

"Leslie  has  no  business  to  have  idle  tales  told  about 
him.  No,  I  can't  sit  down,"  she  cried,  impatiently,  as. 
Bainbridge  pushed  the  diair  forward.  "I  don't  want  to. 
You're  all  against  me.  You  know  things  you  won't  tell 
me — " 
"  But  we  don't,  Maggie  darling." 
"Then  why  should  Claribel  take  me  by  the  hand— and 
cry  over  me— and  say  that  if  I  had  to  leave  Leslie  her 
house  would  be  open  to  me — f" 

"  Partly  because  she's  a  foolish  and  dangerous  wwnan," 
Bainbridge  explained,  "and  partly  because  of  something 
else  which  I'm  going  to  tell  you  in  the  hope  that  you'll 
take  it  with  the  wholesome  common  sense  which  is  one 
<rf  your  characteristics." 

She  surveyed  him  haughtily.  "  I'll  take  it  as  I  have  to 
take  it,  Arthur.    All  I  ask  is  to  know." 

He  stepped  forward  so  as  to  be  nearer  her.  Ctorinda 
moved  away  from  the  tea-Uble  toward  the  chimney- 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

pfeee,  where  she  ttood  with  fiu*  pMtuOly  averted  ft«n  the 
poop  M  (he  saced  into  the  fire.  She  had  laid  -.ithiag 
■inoe  Maoie  had  entered  the  nom.  ^^ 

"What  Mn.  Janott  was  referring  to  was  a  very  siUy 
pMagraph  in  a  paper  you'd  only  smile  over.  I  saw  it 
myself-two  days  a«o-by  accident— on  the  train  awiing 
fromPhiladeliAia.  It  isn't  worth  ypur  paying  a  minuted 
attention  to— "  '    "uuuic. 

"I'U  judge  of  that." 

"Couldn't  ywi  let  me  judge  of  it?  You  know  me  welL 
and  Lesbe  knows  me— " 

"Coming  from  Philadelphia,"  she  reflected.  "Two 
^aif^'  ^***  ^'^  ^^  evening  you  rang  up  Leslie  and 
■sked  him  to  come  down  and  see  you.  Was  it  about 
this?" 

"Yes,  it  was  about  this.    I  wanted  LesUe  to  know  that 

the  thing  was  in  print,  so  that  you  might  be  protected  from 
seeing  it." 

Herface  and  voice  grew  stormier.  "And  you  suggested 
to  him  that  he  should  take  me  away." 

"I  did.  I  was  afraid  that  if  you  stayed  in  New  York 
during  the  Mart  few  days  the  thing  that  has  happened 
tttotM  happen." 

I' And  it  would  be  better  to  keep  me  in  the  dark." 

"  It  would  be  better  not  to  wound  you  when  the  wound- 
ing wouldn't  do  any  good." 

"Or  come  between  LesUe  and  his  mistresses.  That  was 
your  idea,  to,-,  wasn't  it?" 

"Maggie!" 

It  was  Mar>-  Galloway  who  uttered  the  exclamation. 
Uormda  only  turned  round  and  looked  at  the  passionate 
woman  silently. 

"No,  Maggie,"  Bainbridge  said,  quietly.    "It  wasn't' 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


^^^^^j^^  ,^  ."•«»■  au,  UMt  Idiotic  paragraph  may  be 

^^Oh.v«yKWy.    TeU«ewhatit«ud.andru«»wer 
J^«.I  d«U.    It  «ud  you  wen^Healou,  of  yo„, 

an  uncontrollable  to^r  "  '  *^*  y«« »»«» 

hun  well."  ^       ^  ""*"  '*•  «nd  I've  paid 

"Oh,  Maggie,"  Mary  Galloway  cried   'M^-* 

th^;  .or  at  least  dor?t  say  ^  S,  uJr        "^  "^ 

Maggie  glared  at  them  Jl  n«Sv^'    ^    ,, 
«y  it?    Don't  you  know  iT^L^.7^^  shouldn't  I 
l«owit?    Havenri^tJLp^dlf^  '''^  ^"^^ 
of  his  own  in  the  w<»M?    w     L    Did  he  have  a  penny 
make  him?    Hav!n^  t   •     ^^  *"  anybody?    Didn't  I 

coat  to  hi;  biT^burwh^^  T.""^  '?^*^°"-    H«  h^a^'t  a 
shouldn'tlWaLi.irt^".'^**^^-    Why 

W:^a.'ty^^;i-^^rS^;^^^ib^^^^ 

and  ttL^"         ^^  '''•*°  3^^  thought  them  over; 

103 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

tli«nI«ninow;andnowmyhearti.bi«.ldiiB" 

£  VoricI'^  '^'^'^  me  with  half  the  women  in 

.h^rk;:w'^'*'"  ^"^  '"^"^ "« ''*  i-i  I 

be'tll'il'*  l?"  *^^,7i*  °°''  ^  «««qu«ce  would 
be  the  same.    He  would  have  deceived  me  " 

Clonnda  oune  slowlj-  forward  as  if  about  to  speak 
^^BamWdge  continued  she  again  stood  Sll^a 

•ny^  other  woman-even  one-m  his  life,  besides  you.. 

J^'^Zit^-  '^'r'^  the  effect  of  a  tumultuou. 
tw*    \.^<»*l°>r  "">**'««  f«- a  fact.    I  only  know 

fandofmghtmare.  I've  felt  that  something  was^rouK 
b^«m  Led^and  me  without  being  abte^tell  wS 
:*  He's  been  miles  away  fiom  me;  we've  been  ^iJs 
^;  and  yet  I  haven't  been  able  to  put  myl^t 
^  e  madent.  or  catch  him  up  in  a  single  w^  tLt 
would  bear  me  out.  If  s  been  smothering  me;  iW  tea 
Mmg  me;  but  I  haven't  dax«l  so  mui  as  'to  uttT^ 
«y.  I  ve  felt  at  tunes  that  you  all  must  see  it-thatyo^ 
^eas^  mus^  see  it  aorinda.  when  you've  been  in  ^ 
country-but  you  aU  seem  to  be  on  Leslie's  side  and  think 
he  has  a  nght  to  r  iake  me  suffer." 

"I  <Mdn't  know  he  was  making  you  suffer-"  Baia- 
.  bndge  began,  gently.  ^™ 

Z03 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"Because  I've  laughed  and  scolded  and  put  up  my  big 
bhifi,  and  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  what  I  couldn't 
see  I  mustn't  believe;   but  now  when  Claribel  Jan«tt 

comes  to  me  with  her  whining  sympathy  I — I  can't 

I  can't — I  can't  do  it  any  longer." 

%e  dropped  into  the  chair  which  Bainbridge  was  still 
holding  by  the  back,  burying  her  face  in  the  mufi  she 
threw  on  the  table  beside  her.  Sobs  racked  her  as  if  she 
was  a  child;  as  if  she  was  a  child  she  wept  aloud  with  a 
n^ve  shamelessness. 

Qorinda  advanced  again,  the  light  striking  from  the 
gold  threads  in  her  dress.  "  Maggie,"  she  began,  hoarsely, 
"Maggie—" 

But  Bainbridge  put  up  a  warning  hand  as  an  indication 
that  Maggie  was  to  be  allowed  to  weep.  It  was  Mary 
Galloway  who  sprang  forward,  kneeling  on  the  floor  !»• 
side  her  friend  and  throwing  an  arm  across  the  broad, 
heaving  shoulder. 

Slowly  Clorinda  withdrew  toward  the  fire,  where  she 
sat  down,  with  a  sort  of  diivering,  in  its  glow.  She  re- 
mained there,  a  mute,  bowed  figure,  curiously  weary, 
while  the  others  did  their  best  in  the  task  of  giving  con- 
solation. 

When  Maggie  raised  her  head  and  began  to  dry  her 
eyes  by  thrusting  her  handkerchief  beneath  her  veil. 
Bainbridge  was  sitting  near  her,  where  his  eyes  could 
look  into  hers.  Mary  continued  to  kneel  on  the  floor, 
though  her  arm  had  slipped  down  to  the  older  woman's 
waist. 

"I'm  a  big  baby,"  Maggie  sobbed,  convulsively,  "but 
It's  been  so  awfully  hard." 

"I  can  see  that,"  Bainbridge  agreed,  softly,  "but  I  had 
DO  idea  of  it  till  this  afternoon." 
104 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"I've  niSered  so,"  Maggie  continued,  as  she  biev  her 
nose,  "and  now  I  shall  malce  him  feel  what  it  is." 

"I  woul4  if  it  will  give  you  any  comfort." 

With  her  faandkercfaief  raised  half-way  to  her  face  she 
stared  at  him.  "It  won't  give  me  any  comfort,  but — " 
The  sobs  still  shook  her,  as  she  said:  "It's  so  terrible  to  be 
fighting  somediing  and  not  know  what  it  is." 

aorinda  looked  up  again,  but  both  Bainbridge  and 
Mary  were  too  intensely  occupied  with  Maggie  to  notice 
the  act. 

"And  you  wont  him  to  tell  you.  Is  that  it?"  Bain- 
bridge inquired. 

"I  want  to  make  him  suffer  in  the  way  he's  made 
me." 

"You  could  hardly  make  him  suffer  in  that  way.  He 
might  suffer  in  some  other  way — " 

"In  any  way,  then!  It '11  be  all  the  same  to  me  so  kmg 
as  he  feels  it." 

"And  if  he  does  yoall  be  happy." 

"Oh,  happy!    It's  no  Ufs  to  talk  about  that." 

"I  think  it  is.  You've  a  right  to  be  happy — as  happy 
as  you  can  make  yourself.  You  must  make  the  children 
happy,  too.  You've  got  to  think  of  them.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  you've  got  to  think  of  them  before  you  think  of 
anything  or  anybody  else.  And  if  seeing  Leslie  smart  is 
going  to  accomplish  that — " 

She  blew  her  nose  again.  "I  can  look  after  the.children," 
she  said,  roughly.    "You  leave  them  to  me." 

"Quite  so.  But  what  do  you  propose  doing?  Don't 
you  think  you'd  t)etter  have  some  form  of  program  in 
mind?  You  wouldn't  want  to  strike  wildly,  and  be  sorry 
for  it  afterward." 


8 


"I  shall  strike  as  I  can.' 


los 


h'  'I 


III 

A 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"Then  youH  do  it  wildly,  and  the  Wow  wiU  probably 
wcoil  upon  yourself.  Unless  you  know  what  you^doij 
It  seems  to  me  better  to  wait."  j-wreoomg 

^'No.  I  sha'n't  wait.    If  I  do-he'll-^ie'U  get  round 

^But  why  should  he?   K  you  don't  caie  anything  about 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  again.    "But 
Ido-Ido-Ido.    That's  the  worst  of  it." 
"And  may  be  the  best  of  it." 
"Maggie  darling,"    Mary  Galloway  whispered,  "you 
love  him-^f  course.    We  all  know  that.    And  since  you 
do-smce  there's  no  question  about  that  in  your  nflnd 
or  his.  or  ours-isn't  it  better  to  act  in  love  rather  than  iti 
angtf  ?    Anger  passes,  but  love  remains.    Don't-<fon'< 
sacrifice  the  thing  that  makes  your  life  to  what  may  not 
be  the  feehng  of  an  hour." 

"Oh.  you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  You've  never 
hadahusband.  Kyou  had  had.  you'd  be  just  as  crazy  as  I 
am.  She  staggered  heavily  to  her  feet.  "It's  no  use 
talkmg.    You're  aU  on  Ledie's  side." 

"No  Maggie  darling,"  Mary  protested.  "We're  not 
*^^^'^^.  ^«'«<»>y<Mthesideoflove.  Ami't 
y^Mr.  Bambndge?  Aren't  we,  Clorinda?  One  doesn't 
need  to  have  been  married  to  know  that  to  wound  your 
own  love  «,  to  wound  the  most  sacred  thing  about  you. 
That  saU  we  want  to  keep  you  from.  We  love  you;  no  ' 
one  oodd  help  lovmg  you  who  knows  you  as  y<«.  r^dly 
Me;  and  we  want  to  save  you  from  what  you  may  bitterly 

Maggie  continued  to  blow  her  nose.  whUe  Mary  straight- 
ened the  crooked  hat.    "I'm  going  home.    You  must  aU 
e«cuse  me.    I'm  a  great  big  baby;  but.  oh.  it's  been  so 
lo6 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

h«rd.    I  dicfa't  expect  to  find  any  one  here  but  Oorinda. 

I  knew  she'd  be  sony  for  me—" 
aorinda  spoke  from  the  fireside,  without  rising  or 

tunimg  round,  "I  am.  Maggie;  more  than  I  can^" 
You  needn't  try  to  teU  me.    .  know  how  you  feel  " 
■ITie  respoa-  was  in  a  tone  at  once  ringing  and  dead- 
Oh  no,  you  aon't.     It's  far  beyond  anything  you  can 

have  any  idea  of."  s  j-  u  lam 

Maggie  moved  toward  the  door.  Her  commonplace 
^^w  n'*^^  had  in  some  degree  come  back  to 
her.  WeU,  Im  gomg,  anyhow.  Good-by.  aU  of  you 
im—lm  sorry  to  have  made  such  a  fusj-but  you  know 
what  I  am." 

Maty  GaUoway  picked  up  her  mufiE  and  prepared  to 
depart.    She,  too,  endeavored  to  take  a  coUoquial  tone. 
I  m  going  with  you,  Maggie  dear.      Good-by,  Clorinda. 
Ihank  you  for  showing  me  the  things." 

Feeling  it  his  duty  to  accompany  the  women  and.  if 
possible  extract  from  Maggie  a  premise  to  say  nothing 
to  her  husband  that  might  make  matters  worse.  Bain- 
bndge  advanced  toward  Qorinda  to  take  his  leave  As 
die  neither  moved  nor  looked  up  at  him  on  his  approach 
he  was  obhged-privileged.  he  thought-to  lean  over  her' 

Im  sony  this  had  to  happen  here,"  he  said;  "and 
yet  if  Maggie  had  to  pour  out  her  soul  anywhere  it  was 
better  that  it  should  be  to  us  rather  than  to  strangers  " 

_    'It  would  have  been  stm  better  if  there  had  been  noth- 
ing to  make  her  do  it." 

"l  dare  say  it  isn't  as  bad  as  she  thinks." 

"And  yet  it  may  be  worse." 

Ife  was  afraid  to  discuss  that  point  lest  he  should 
betray  his  knowledge  of  the  actress.  "I  must  run  away 
now,  as  I've  more  to  say  to  Maggie;  but  I  haven't  seen 


107 


■f?:: 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

you  in  tte  way  I  expected.     Mayn't  I  come  back  again 
some  otlier  time?"  ^^  ^^^ 

Her  feoe  was  stiU  averted  as  she  answered  him.  "If  I 
said  No  to  that  you'd  be  hurt,  wouldn't  you?-aad  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  you."  ~->uu.  ±  u«a  i 

"Then  I'U  take  that  as  your  answer— and  come." 


\h 


CHAPTER  Vin 


*  No,  Magpe,  no,"  Maiy  GaUoway  pleaded 

"jJT  '**  ^"^'.i'  ^'^^^  said,  in  a  tone  of  authority. ' 
Let  her  read  all  thens  is." 

B.^^!^  "^f^^  *^  "'^  *■  *^«y  P«^  a  Ughted 
newspaper-stand  and  got  out.  When  he  canie  baclTwith 
tte  weekly  u.  his  hand  he  had  already  opened  it  to^he 
S'^'.r?^^''-  Maggie  tried  to  read  it  by  the 
b£L^^^h  ST"'  ^"'"'='  ^*  ^«  «y-  we.  too 
'■I  can't,"  she  moaned.  "Tell  him  to  drive  on  " 
Up  through  Fifth  Avenue  she  lay  bock  in  her  comer 
o^  the  motor,  sdent,  suffering,  with  eyes  closed,  grasping 
the  paper  iike  a  treasure  to  her  bi^at*  • 

wZ!^'°'*  ^1^'  ^^^•"  M'^  G^°way  whispered 
whaa  they  reached  the  house  in  Sixty-ninth  Street^ 
Then  Tufts  will  take  you  home." 

Bainbridge  said  nothing,  accompanying  Mrs.  Palliser 
into  the  house  as  a  matter  of  course 

On  the  ground  floor,  near  the  front  door,  was  a  smaU 
^^  dnefly  by  LesUe  or  his  stenographer  as  a  kind 
l^^fU  T  ^  ^  housing-place  for  his  collection  of 
aghteenth^^entury  mezzo-tint  portraits  of  judges,  states- 
men, ^d  eoMomists,  with  which  the  walls  were  hung. 
Followed  by  Bambridge,  Maggie  bustled  in  here,  switch- 
109 


Wi 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

Hease  shut  the  door."  Dropping  into  a  chair  beside  ^ 
table  on  which  stood  a  typewriter  cove«!d  up  fiom  the 
A«t  by  a  black  oadoth  cap.  she  put  up  her  veil  and  read 
Beyond  the  fact  that  the  high  color  surged  into  her  face 
malang  it  almost  purple,  she  gave  no  sign  till  she  had 
finished  the  paragraph. 

"  w^*i  ^■"  f  ?  ^^^'  *en,  not  angrily,  but  in  a 
meek,  tearful,  puzzled  voice.  "Whafs  this  about  a  cer- 
tam  mteresting,  dark-eyed  woman?    Who  is  she?" 

Bambridge  felt  himself  within  the  limits  of  truth  in 
saying:  _  I  don't  know.  But  what  I  do  know  is  this 
that  y«ire  now  up  against  the  critical  moment  of  your 
hfe^and  It  s  for  you  to  show  what  the  principles  you've 
been  professing  all  these  yeare  amount  to  " 

She  looked  round  to  where  he  stood,  still  wearing  his 
overcoat  and  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand,  with  his  back 
^ainstthe  door.  "What  do  you  mean  ?-the  prinaS 
I  ve  been  professing  aU  these  years.'" 

"As  an  active  member  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen's  you've 
been  an  active  member  of  the  church  at  large  As  a 
m^ber  of  the  church  at  large  you've  subscribed  -to 
certain  laws  o£  conduct.  Now  then,  the  time  has 
rome  to^  show  whether  you  mean  to  Uve  by  those  laws 

She  shook  her  head.    "I  don't  imderstand  a  bit." 
Why  did  you  get  married?" 

The  blaiikness  of  her  expression  betrayed  her  surprise 
at  so  futJe  a  question.  "Because  I  was  in  love  with 
Leshe,  of  course." 

'And  you've  learned  that  being  in  love  with  Leslie 
has  mvolved  some  amount  of  give  and  take,  haven't 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


•ob-like  gup.     "Oh,  there's  been 


She  uttered  her 
plenty  of  take." 

'But  you  took  it." 

"Took  it!    I've  swaUowed  .it  by  tons." 
But  having  swaUowed  it-by  tons-did  you  tWak  of 
younelf  as  a  bjgger  or  a  smaUer  woman  for  doing  it?" 
^^^JJe  shouldn't  have  called  on  n«!  to  do  it.   He  should- 

nJl";^-  rr  ^\^"»^'ii  but  that  is  not  our 
present  point.  I'm  asking  you  if,  when  you'd  taken  the 
dose,  you  thought  of  yourself  as  a  better^^e  to  ^ 
or  a  worse  one?"  "«»»»!, 

;;  If  LesHe  could  have  had  a  better  wife  than  I've  been-" 

us  ^^^^  ^,^'''  ^  °°*  '^  *I««ti°»  before 
us^  want  to  toow  If  you  think  you  would  have  been  a  , 
tette^  wife  to  hun  by  not  taking  what  there  was  to 

h«;^'?Z^tT"'^'""°'"^*°-^^'°^«^'* 
Bul^^r  ^  ^  »  ^y  <rf  not  doing  it.    Quite  so. 

mamed  Leshe  was  ,t  pnmarily  to  oe  a  good  wife  to  iL, 
or  to  get  a  good  husband  for  youraelf  ?" 
"It  was  both." 

inttlfct^"'^^'  but  I'm  addng  which  it  was 
"It  wasn't  either  in  the  first  place.    After  what  I  was 
wiUing  to  do  for  UsH,^_and  lum  don^t  was  the  least 
I  could  expect  that—" 

.^y^^u  ""^^  ^'^  '^  °^^«^  to  put  the  one  before 
the  other  and  to  choose  between  being  a  good  wife  to 
L^e  and  havmg  a  good  husband  for  youraelf,  on  which 
would  you  have  decided?" 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"I'd  have  been  a  good  wife  to  Leslie,  just  a.  I've  ah«w 
been;  and  if  Xeslie  think*  I  haven't—" 

"I  know  he  doesn't  think  so.  not  for  a  minute.  But 
fa  dedanng  that  you  would  prefer  to  be  a  good  wife 
to  Leahe,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  having  him  as  a  good 
husband  to  you.  are  yon  speaking  sincerely  or  only  b». 
ca^  yoa  think  it's  the  right  thing  to  say?" 
"I'm  speaking  sin — "  t 

"Think,  now.  Maggie.  Take  your  time.  It's  a  ques- 
tion an  married  people,  nd  aU  people  who  think  of  being 
mamed,  should  know  how  to  answer.  What  were  vou 
pnmanly  thinking  of?" 

"Hie  poor  red  face,  furrowed  with  trouble  and  stained 
with  tears,  was  turned  toward  his  piteously.  She  looked 
away  from  him.  then  back  to  him  again,  then  down 
at  her  hands,  then  up  at  the  ceiling.  The  process 
of  concentrated  thinking  did  not  come  to  her  easily 
and  she  took  it  somewhat  as  a  child.  "I  said  it'* 
^e  gasped  at  last,  "because-because  it^s  the  right 
thing  to  say."  * 

"That  is.  when  you  married  you  were  looking  first  of 
aU  for  a  good  husband  for  yourself?" 

"Yes."  she  asserted,  with  the  firmness  of  one  who  means 
not  to  be  ashamed  of  the  position. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  your  success?" 

"If  Leslie  had  only  been  the  huuband  to  me  that  I've 
been  wife  to  him — " 

''That's  just  the  point.  What  Leslie  has '.een  to  you 
is  his  own  affair — " 

Having  been  sitting  in  profile  toward  him,  and  ^peak- 
ing  over  her  shoulder,  she  wheeled  round  so  as  to  face 
hun  directly.  "What  LesUe  has  been  to  me  is  his  own 
affair?    Do  you  mean  to  say  it  isn't  minef" 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Not  in  the  fiwt  place.  What's  your  af&ur  in  the  fitst 
laaee  is  what  you  have  been  to  him." 

"I  know  what  I've  been  to  him,"  she  declared,  in  her 
mannish  way.  "But  to  say  that  it's  not  my  aSair  what 
hes  been  to  me  is  equal  to  saying  that  it's  not  my  afiair 
If  a  man  doesn't  pay  me  money  when  he  owes  it." 

"Not  quite-<or  the  reason  that  money  is  a  material 
thmg  that  you  can  reckon  and  exact.  You  can't  reck<m 
and  exact— love.  Love-I  mean  the  love  others  feel  for 
us— has  to  be  left  free.  You  can  neither  constrain  it  nor 
restrain  jt,  nor  can  you  make  a  bargain  by  which  so 
much  love  must  be  paid  back  to  us  for  so  much  that  we 
give." 

"I've  given  Leslie  more  than  love—" 
"You've  given  him  money.     Yes,  so  you  told  us  just 
now. 

She  hung  her  head.  "I  wasn't  telling  you  anythinit 
yjtt  didn't  know, "  she  began,  apologeticaUy. 

"Oh  yes,  you  were,  Maggie.  You  told  us  that  you 
were  aware  of  giving  it.  I  don't  think  any  of  us  had  anv 
idea  <rf  that-Hall  then." 

She  continued,  with  some  shame,  in  her  own  defense, 
X  shouldn  t  have  been  aware  of  it  if  he  hadn't  -one 
spendmg  my  money  on  other  women." 

He  stepped  toward  the  table,  coming  into  the  glow  of 
the  light.  "Even  if  you  knew  that  for  a  fact,  which  ycu 
don  t — " 

"No,  but  I'm  very  nearly  sure  of  it.  I've  felt  it  for 
years;  and  now,"  she  continued,  with  her  hand  on  the 
paper,  "there's  this." 

"Being  very  neariy  sure  means  not  knowing  anything 
about  It.    But  well  let  that  pass.    Assuming  that  what 
you  say  is  true,  then  it's  still  LeaUe's  afiair,  unless—" 
"3 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

She  broke  in  wrathfoUy:  "My  GodI  Arthur,  for  a  sme 
man  you  an  the  biggest  fool—" 

ifi'S*!  T.  ^^r'*  '*^  "^  *^-'   ^'"^  8°^K  to  say 
rts^stJl  Leshes  afiEau-ualesa  you  mean  to  hrvalc  with 

"Break  with  him?    Break  with  him,  how >" 
"Separate  from  him;    send  him  about  his  business- 
divorce  him.  -~"ras, 

She  stared  up  at  him.    "Do  ,««  advise  me  to  do  that?" 

it—""'  *'  ^^  '"'^*^  ^^  °^*  "P  y°"  °»»nd  to 

"WeU,  what?" 

I*  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  the  other  thine  " 
What  other  thing?" 

'.w  t!?^"^  '"*  '^^  *°  ^°"2  on  as  in  the  past." 
WeU  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  it.    What  else  did 
you  tnuucr 

tt,rL^5''r^  '^  ^'^^  *°  ^^  something  between 

..^![!r     ''''"'«  '"^  "^^  "^"i  ""^l^g  Wni  unhappy  " 
Don  t  you  think  he  deserves  it  ?" 

.J^°*T?"  ^^  ^"^  «!™^^  ^  y°"  •°'°w  anything 
about.  If  youre  going  by  that  thing-"  He  pointed  to 
the  paper  lymg  on  the  table. 

mI?"' ^\  ^'^  ^-  '^*  "'^y  corroborates  what  I've 
felt  for  the  last  three  or  four  years." 

"All  the  same  you  don't  know.  And  even  if  you  did 
so  long  as  you  mean  to  Uve  with  Leslie  you  must  liv^ 
with  lum  on  a  high  plane  and  not  on  a  low  one.  That's 
what  I  me^t  just  now  when  I  spoke  of  being  true  to 
your  pnnaples.  If  principles  stand  for  anything  in  your 
hfe,  you've  got  a  chance  to  prove  it." 

"Prove  it  how?" 

"By  changing  your  mental  basis;  by  thinking  less  of 
114 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

wh*tjort  of  a  husbMd  Leslie  i.  to  you,  airf  more  of  what 

•ort  of  a  wife  you  are  to  him." 
ae  slapped  her  hand  sJ.arply  on  the  table.    "  I've  been 
f!v1?  ,*°'^-    No  one  could  have  been  better." 

^^ReaUy?    Then  in  that  case  there's  no  more  to  be" 

.  J^*,  ''°  u^*~  *"^  y*"^"'  "^^  You've  been  in 
and  out  for  the  past  four  yean,.  You've  seen  with  yo^ 
own  eyes —  ' 

"What  I  see  with  my  own  eyes.  Maggie,  is  that  you've 
,^^  °?l^'u?  '*^'°°»»  «  y««-  heart,  and  turning 
r^  "f  *"*.*"?«  y<«  don't  know  anything  about;  an! 

^1^  "  ***  *P^«'  ^^"^  *  ^oree  that  Ti-ill  carry 
you  both  away  with  it.  Remember  that  you  can't  pu^ 
L^e  without  punishing  yourself;  and  of  the  two  it's 
probably  you  who'll  suffer  most." 

thf'f.T  ^"^  \^^,°^"t«'.  with  her  elbow  resting  on 
the  table  and  her  hand  shading  her  eyes.  When  she 
looked  up  It  was  to  say: 

"Then  what  would  you  have  me  do'" 

the  teXir  '"''  '"^^'  -  ^•^  y-  «-  attempt. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  that  you  can't  Hve  LesUe's  life,  or  shoulder 
h^  duties  or  make  up  for  his  shortcomings,  or  be  respon- 
able  for  his  sms.  You've  got  enough  to  do  with  your 
own.  If  you  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him-to  divorce  him,  as 
3-ou  might  possibly  find  you  could  do-I  don't  say  it 
^d  >^a!  but  it's  what  ycni've  been  hinting  at  youi^J 
to  rf  you  wanted  to  be  f  ..i-^eU.  that  would  be  another 

Bringing  both  her  fists  down  on  the  table  with  a  thump 
IIS 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

*e  criad  out:  "But,  good  Lort.  nan.  I  Iom  Mn.  ™-. 
than  I  ever  didr  ^^  ™"  "^ 

^B^tSI^^   C^tovepoadblyactinthatwaVr 
^  But  what  else  can  I  do  when  he—?" 

"Yott  can  go  on  loving  him;  you  can  Aow  him  mom 
^:^^^''  5^ -°'«^»^ '««-«««  and  n« 
"Haven't  I  been  doing  that?" 

vJi^t,^*^' "*•  ^*''' «»•  y««  ««de«tood  it-iime 
2^Wdy«»  ey«  to  the  fi«:t  that  your  love  h«  been 
JZt/8^^  Y«i've  loved  Ledie-^you  told  us  so 
jurt  now  didn't  you?-«  «««rthing  you  owned,  som^ 
thmg  you  d  bought,  something  you'd  cieated  " 

But  how  can  I  help  it.  when  before  he  married  me  he 
Sfu^  •  T  '^«'lff™«=t-  «  P<-itical  ec^  S 
C^^  -*he  snapped  her  fingeni-"aad  didn't  have 
a  cent  to  his  name?" 

Th^t'it^f.'*^'"??P'*y^'°^-     "P«»MaggieI 
rt..^"    Yr'^'***'^-y~'^'«*^vemnor 

El^^^'^L'^.**",  f<*8ive  me  or  not.  as  you 
^^^T^Tl  be  the  happier  for  knowing  it.  end  y«x,'U 

never  be  happy  till  you  do  know  it!  You  don't  see  that^ta 

f«ny  ways  I^  is  superior  to  you-^d  tha  SwLk 

^^1^\'°'^"  AshecouldseethZisent. 
^«t  struggled  m  her  mind  with  appn^al  of  his  words, 
he  went  on:  'I^he  is  reaUy  a  distinguished  man.rS 
Zo?^'  ?  '^^'^  °^  distinguished  men.  and  he 
brmgs  them  to  your  house.  He's  more  than  that  There's 
^J^^^^rather  excite  in  his  nature.   J^ 

J^we're  all  ultra-refin^i  nowadays."  she  declared. 
ii6 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"PMdoo  !»,»••«  not  Sotaeoltii  have  •g««t  deal 
to  iMm  in  that  directiqa.  I'd  tUnk  of  that.  Mag™,  if 
1  were  you. 

"Are  yott  hinting  that— that  rm-rm"-4he  could 
Wdly  pronounce  the  wordi-"th.t  I'm-rn,  net  ny 

"You're  .plendid.  Maggie.  You're  good  and  honest 
«^_  teue  and   nncere;    bnt   there's  s«nethii^  about 

j' Which  isn't  about  me?   Is  that  it?" 

"Nor  about  me;  nor  about  most  of  us."  She  drew  a 
tong,  hard  breath  as  he  continued:  "You  speak  of  what 
ive  seta  with  my  own  eyes,  Maggie.  Well,  among  other 
things.  I  ve  seen  that,  much  as  you  love  Leslie,  you've 
nev«-  treated  him  otherwise  than  as  a  r^nant  queen 
mght  treat  a  prince  consort.  You've  given  to  '.•••,• 
you  ve  not  been  willing  to  share  a  common  life  with  him.' 
to  tlusvery  house  you've  always  been  the  head,  while 
ne  s  been  a  few  removes  higher  than  the  butler." 

"Arthur,  what  nonsense!" 

"It's  true,  Maggie.  You've  spoken  of  my  house  and 
my  mot«r  and  my  guests  at  times  when  most  people 
would  say  <mr." 

"But  Leslie's  always  known  that  he  was  free  to  con- 
sider everything—" 

"As  his  own.  Yes,  whfle  you  considered  that  it  was 
not  his  own-not  quite  his  own-and  Leslie  is  as  sensitive 
to  that  sort  of  slight  as  mercury  to  cold.  You've  nded 
mm,  Maggie — " 

A  sound  at  the  outside  door  impelled  her  to  whisper: 
Mush!    He s  coming  in." 

"Then  I  shaU  leave  you  together.    Remember,  Maggie 
tnat  you  re  now  at  a  turning-point  in  your  life.    It  may 
117 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

d^d  on  what  yw,  ^y  ^thin  the  nert  few  minutet 
whether  you  win  Leslw  back—" 

^If  I  have  to  win  him  ioct  I  don't  know  that  I  want 

«.1^*°  it's  something  you  ought  to  know-to  know  in 
R^Iw^  V°"  "  be  sure  of  what  you're  about. 
R^ember,  too.  that  nothing  is  so  patient  as  the  right 

S^ie  iTt' r^  *^n^^  ^"" '"^  ^'*  P-^-t  it's  "ot 
^the  nght  kmd.     There's  something  lacking  to  it- 

somethmg  you  must  supply  before  you've  a  right  to  take 
^y  one  to  task  Why  not  wait  till  you  can  LS^; 
wh«e  you  re  tendmg?  What  good  will  it  do  you  or  yo,^ 
^Mr^  to  hurmhate  their  father  when  you've  no  e.^  in 
-    view  beyond  his  humiliation?" 

JZ^"^^^  ^  ^^  ^^  ^PP^e  i*  "«der  her  coat, 
she  muttered  words  to  the  effect  that  it  was  easy  fo^ 

for  S  *°^  '^  ^^^^  him  out  of  his 

"HeUo,  Arthur!" 

"HeUo.  Leslie!" 

"Stay  to  dinner,  won't  you?" 
»,J1?*^\?"    ^"^  *  """^e  this  evening.   -Came 
«^J7      ^^''  ^*°  *^  <^«  something."     He 
nodded  toward  the  reception-room.    "She's  in  there." 
nilw  7   ^?*'  ^^'^  expression  was  not  the  less 
^^ble  for  bemg  ridiculous.    The  guilty  man  coming 

W  tir,  ■  ^"^  '^'^  ^  *  '»'''i«=t  that  hal 

^t  Itself  to  comic  treatment  ever  since  men  had  been 
wnting  plays.  Viewed  objectively  there  tvas  something 
comic  m  the  situation.  It  was  impossible  to  speak  of  it 
smas  Maggie  was  within  earshot  and  ahnost  within 
ii8 


at 

in 

It. 
ht 
ot 


THE   LIFTED   VEI»' 
■ight;  but  in  their  silent  roUin-.  o£  th'  ev«  tn—^       u 

^tlil^'   "" '^ ^^*y "^ ^y^p^thy and 


CHAPTER  EX 

"  \A7^*^  'S  *^  interestmg  girl  at  the  end  of  the  second 
VV  row  on  the  left?"  It  was  the  first  time  Clorinda 
had  spoken  since  entering  the  big  room,  in  which  the 
institutional  smeU  of  disinfectant  mingled  with  the  odor 
of  Christmas  boughs. 

In  spite  of  all  efforts  to  the  contrary  the  eight  ot  ten 
visitors  wore  an  air  of  compassionate  condescension  as 
they  sat  facing  the  three  rows  of  so-caUed  incorrigible 
girls  who  had  been  driven  in  dumbly  to  their  annual 
treat.  The  treat  was  at  the  end  of  the  room,  behind  the 
viators— a  pyramidal  Christmas  tree  hung  with  festoons 
of  tinsel  and  popped  com,  illuminated  by  electric  candles, 
growing  sweets  and  fruits  in  exotic  abundance,  and  spring- 
ing from  a  soil  of  parcels.  Twenty-seven  paire  of  girlish 
eyes  observed  it  with  cold,  detached  attention.  It  was 
part  of  the  official  routine,  one  of  the  pleasanter  phases 
of  a  disdpUne  intended  for  their  good.  It  would  yield 
them  some  candies  to  eat  and  a  few  useful  things  to  wear. 
To  this  degree  it  was  acceptable;  but  otherwise  it  was 
not  a  Christmas  tree.  Nothing  could  make  it  a  Christmas 
tree.  A  Christmas  tree  was  fun  and  freedom  and  spon- 
taneity; it  was  giving  as  weU  as  getting;  it  was  saving 
and  pLmning  and  contriving  and  surprising  and  taking 
an  active  part.  Here  nothing  was  asked  but  a  well-be- 
haved acquiescence,  a  stolid  thaakfuhiess,  both  of  which 

130 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

oottM  be  pven  without  a  blink  of  the  eye.  "Between  us 
and  you  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed,"  the  beneficiaries 
seemed  to  say  to  their  rescuers  and  patrons,  "and  noS 
you  can  do  will  bridge  it  over."  "noimng 

It  was  the  interval  between  two  carols.  The  girls 
^g_exh:bited  their  talents  in  "Good  Christian  r1 
^ce  were  taking  br^th  before  beginning  on  another. 
They  sat  silent  and  blank.  They  were  neither  sullen  nor 
-bdhous  nor  hostUe;  they  were  only  unresponsive.  As 
nearly  as  might  be  their  delicate  bodies  and  haggard 

Bainbridge,  who  was  seated  next  to  Qorinda,  answered 
her  question.  The  girl  was  Pansy  Wilde,  w^  ^fS 
SSfr  ^°  the  i^itution-now  known  iTthe  H^ 
of  a«nfort,  though  the  eighteenth  century  had  caUed  it 

^^^eZ^^Z'^^'  PemaleHy  thejuveni 
l^.    He  recounted  her  experiences,  more  or  l4  char 
actenstic  of  these  of  her  sister  inma^.    Th^  ZtZ 

this  she  had  been  dismissed  owing  to  a  wilftUness  of  con-' 
Aict^patible  with  household  pn^priety.    WhenaC 

^fi-cTTi.  ^^  ^^  ^  ^^  ^"»°  ^o^^.  taking 

reftige  witha  woman  m  Brooklyn,  in  whose  house  the 

Pansy  ^  been  put  to  shifts  which  Bainbridge's  narra^ 

On  retimmig  one  evemng  to  the  house  where  shTitxmed 

IZlJf'^  ''"'  '^''  ^"^^  ShehadthrS 
™ed  for  kilhng  it.  Of  this  crime  she  was  acquit^ 
The  char^ge  proved  against  her  was  that,  havhTbTn 
tm^ied  out  of  more  than  one  house  when  it  was  fomid  she 

121 


I 


■    1 ' 

i 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

had  a  child,  she  had  concealed  the  fact  by  leaving  the 
baby  half  smothered  in  her  bed.  Since,  however,  she  was 
considered  to  have  done  what  she  could  according  to  her 
opportunities  and  her  lights,  the  judge  had  delivered  her 
to  Miss  Merry,  the  deaconess  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen's, 
to  be  lodged  in  the  House  of  Comfort. 

"You're  speaking  of  Pansy  Wilde,"  said  Miss  Downie, 
the  head  matron,  who  sat  on  Qorinda's  other  side.  "  Ever 
since  she  came  to  us  she's  been  just  like  that." 

Just  like  that  meant  staring  with  wide,  vacant,  violet 
eyes  that  seemed  to  see  nothing,  or  to  see  what  others 
co-.Udn't.  She  was  a  tall,  shm  girl,  whose  beauty  and 
refinement  made  Bainbridge  think— though  he  shrank 
from  the  comparison— of  what  Clorinda  herself  might 
have  been  at  seventeen. 

Miss  Downie,  a  neat  little  woman  about  whom  there 
was  nothing  of  the  jailer  but  two  burning,  vigilant  eyes 
ajid  a  buiich  of  keys  that  jingled  when  she  moved,  con- 
tinued to  explain.  She  had  had  girls  like  Pansy  Wilde 
before,  though  none  that  had  remained  in  this  dazed  and 
docile  state  so  long.  "She's  a  bidable  little  thing,  and 
clever;  but  you've  got  to  tell  her  what  to  do  every  time 
it's  to  be  done." 

Bambridge  was  impressed  with  the  quality  of  emotion 
in  Clorinda's  tone  as  she  said:  "She  iwninds  me  of  a 
wounded  bird  I  once  took  into  the  house.  I  did  what  I 
could  for  it— but  it  was  too  stricken  to  find  comfort  in 
warmth  and  food.  It  needed  something  else  I  wasn't 
able  to  give  it." 

"Oh,  well,  she'll  come  round,"  Miss  Downie  declared, 
with  confidence.    "They  all  do,  in  the  long  run;  and  they 
geno^y  thank  us." 
The  girls  sang  another  Christmas  canil: 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Oh,  little  town  of  Bethlehem, 

How  still  we  see  thee  hel 
Above  thy  sweet  and  dreamless  sleep 

■ine  suent  stars  go  by." 

It  was  hammered  art  with  the  heartv  shadeles,  ™^ 
cham^  effect  of  a  pianola,  after  ^^BmTsZ 
up  and  gave  the  girls  a  little  Christn^  "talk  "ft  ^ 
simple  and  affect  onate  talk  but  it  an^oZT*  "  "^  ^ 
no  deeper  than  the  gl^'Jte^^  *°,  "^'"^^ 
-ne  unrelenting  i^Zrf^^^^^^^rs^^ 
who.  as  far  as  could  be  judged  from  anySing  tSTtrt 
the  eye,  poured  out  his  heart  to  a  patient  Ustta  Z 
enled'cX"*?  f"^^  •^ -°«^-  When^^^"^ 
lonf^Jt:  *  y°^r'^  "^  -ith  e.c2dingly 

^^^^srprt£\s^:-r-- 

fanales  sat  apathetic,  timartms.  with  no  si^  of  Si^v 

I  want  to  speak  to  that  child."  Qorin^Ja  whispered  to 

"^^.^^^.  ---^  -  --^th^ 

Bambridge  hunied  away.    In  »  idnute  he  was  back. 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

leading  Pansy  lightly  by  the  hand.    "Pansy,"  he  said, 
gently,  "Mrs.  Gildersleeve  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  which  of  the  two  was 
the  more  terrified.  Qorinda  was  unused  to  philanthropy. 
She  had  had  no  experience  of  the  cheery,  capable  ways  of 
those  who  set  out  to  do  good  to  others.  All  she  could 
achieve  was  to  look  yearningly  at  the  tall  child  before 
her,  while  Bainbridge,  moved  as  he  had  never  been 
moved  by  anything,  looked  at  her. 
"  Do — do  you  like  it  here?" 
"Yes'm — ^yes,  miss." 

Question  and  answer  were  stammered,  futile.    Because 
of  a  need  of  which  she  hardly  knew  the  force  to  break  the 
ice,  Clorinda  persisted,  "Are— are  you  happy  here?" 
"Yes'm — yes,  miss." 
"No,  you're  not  happy." 

Something  welled  up  in  Pansy  like  a  big,  tearless  sob. 
"N-n-no;  no'm." 
"You  want  to  get  out,  don't  you?" 
"Oh,  yes— I  mean,"  she  caught  herself  up— "I  mean— 
I  mean — oh,  no — oh,  yes — oh — " 

"You'll  be  late  now,  Pansy,  if  you  don't  run  away," 
Bainbridge  intervened,  fearing  the  eflfect  of  Clorinda's 
words.  "Good -by.  Mrs.  Gildersleeve  has  been  very 
glad  to  see  you." 

As  the  girl  turned  Qorinda  stepped  forward  and 
touched  one  of  the  parcels  Pansy  held  in  her  hand.  "I 
gave  you  that.  I— I  want  you  to  know  when— when  you 
wear  it." 

The  last  of  the  girls  was  filing  out  and  Miss  Scatteigood, 
a  scraggy,  long-necked  lady,  with  a  face  like  a  benevolent 
giraffe,  turned  to  include  Pansy  in  the  tail  of  the  proces- 
sion.   Miss  Scattergood's  keys  also  jingled  as  she  moved. 
"4 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Clorinda  stood  as  one  transfixed  till  from  somewhere  in 
the  direction  of  which  the  girls  had  retreated  came  a  sound 
like  the  slipping  of  a  bolt. 

"Oh,  they've  locked  them  up!" 

To  reassure  her  Bainbridge  smiled.  "No,  they  haven't 
exactly  locked  them  up.  They've  only  locked  the  door 
leading  from  the  open  to  the  closed  part  of  the  institution. 
They  have  to  do  that  to  keep  the  mischievous  girls  from 
stealing  out  and  running  away." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  oblique  pleading  lifting  of 
the  eyes.  "Come  home  with  me.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
—to  have  you  talk  to  me— and  I  can't  bear  it  here  any 
longer." 

She  had  never  before  addressed  him  in  just  this  way, 
this  appealing  way,  this  child-like,  confidential  way,  as  if 
in  some  undefined  sense  she  belonged  to  him.  She  needed 
comfort  and  for  it  looked  to  him.  To  whom  else  should 
she  look?  As  he  took  his  seat  beside  her  in  the  limousine 
it  was  hard  for  him  not  to  seize  her  hand. 

She  began  at  once,  excitedly.  "There's  something 
about  that  child— about  them  all,  but  about  her  especially 
—that  almost  breaks  my  heart.  I  seem  to  see  myself  as 
I  might  have  been  if— if  circumstances  hadn't  been 
different." 

"Wasn't  it  John  Howard,  the  Quaker  philanthropist, 
who  said,  when  he  saw  a  man  taken  out  to  be  hanged! 
'There,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  myself?  You 
feel  thi  same  thing." 

"No,  I  don't  feel  the  same  thing.  That  couldn't  have 
happened,  whereas  this  could.  It's  what  would  have 
happened,  if  I'd  been  in  the  place  of  any  one  of  them." 
As  the  chauffeur  turned  the  machine  she  confronted 
Bainbridge  with  a  gesture  toward  the  big  brick  building 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

behind  high  walU  from  the  lighted  doorway  of  which  ther 
w«e  moving  away.  "Itt't  there  any  better  method^ 
helpmg  them  than  tliaif"  •«"««  w 

His  thoughts  were  so  intently  on  her  that  he  hardly 
tow  how  he  an^«»ed.  "There  probably  is;  but  the 
worid  hasn't  found  it  yet." 

"Then  can't  we  find  it?" 

"That's  considered  very  good,  you  know-as  such  in- 
stitutions  go. 

"It's  awful;  it's  terrible;  it's-it's  inhuman  " 

JiH^u  "**  y^  ^""^  *^  °*«-  1°  *e  street 
Ughts  he  could  see  her  eyes  aflame.  His  voice  seemed 
to  hmi  to  come  from  far  away.  It  would  have  been 
so  much  «a«-  to  say  what  was  bumng  on  his  lips. 

It  may  be  mhuman.  but  it's  neither  terrible  nor  awM 
You  mustremember  what  the  poor  Uttle  souls  have 
escaped  from. 

"But  they  hate  it." 

"They  hate  the  restriction;  but  unless  they're  re- 
stramed  you  can't  do  them  any  good." 

"Oh  yes  you  can.  There  must  Jdc  a  way-a  better 
way  than  that."  -  "c<.i«r 

"Of  course  there's  a  better  way  than  that,  if  you  could 
P*  any  one  to  take  it.  But  you  couldn't.  An  institution 
IS  only  second  best,  or  third  best,  when  you've  said  aU 
you  can  for  it.  But  we  have  to  use  the  means  which  the 
toitabons  of  nature  and  society  put  into  our  hands  If 
Pansy  Wilde  weren't  here,  fed  and  clothed  and  taught 
and  kept  warm—"  — «'«"i. 

She  brote  in  fiercely.    "Shedoesn't  want  tobefedand 
ctothed  and  taught  and  kept  wann.    She  wants  love  " 
for  m"  "^  ^  '™°*  love-but  it  isn't  necessarily  good 

136 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"It  is  good,  if  it's  of  the  right  idnd." 
"Oh.  if  if.  of  the  right  land,  I  agree  with  you.    The 
trouble  i»— " 

"  The  trouble  is  with  oursdvps.   We  haven't  got  hearts. 

Wiat  we've  seen  just  now  is  the  attempt  to  produce  the 
effect  of  love  by  machinery.  That's  as  effective  as  bring- 
ing  up  babies  on  artificial  milk." 

He  was  still  not  thinldng  of  his  words;  he  was  thinking 
of  her.  Never  before  had  he  seen  her  wake  like  this  to 
mdignation  and  emotion.  Through  the  crush  of  traffic 
on  this  Christmas  Eve  the  car  moved  but  a  few  yards  at 
a  time,  to  be  subjected  to  long  waits,  of  which  neither 
took  any  notice.  All  the  New  York  of  old  Greenwich 
VUlage  seemed  to  be  astir.  The  shops  were  doing  an 
active  tracie;  the  foot^^'ays  were  vhrongcd;  in  the  win- 
dows of  faded  dwellings  there  was  here  and  there  the 
Lghting  up  of  a  aristmas  tree.  Newsboys  shrieked  the 
evenmg  papers;  the  Elevated  thundered  overhead;  from 
the  bay  came  the  not  infreque:  -  whistle  of  a  ferry-boat 
oratug.  While  it  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  snowing  an 
occasional  large  soft  snowflake  drifted  adown  the  window- 
pane.  Bainbridge  felt  himself  imprisoned  with  her  on 
some  secure,  secluded  isle,  with  an  ocean  to  protect  the 
refuge.  "That's  very  true,"  he  said,  absently,  as  he 
watched  the  quiver  of  her  mouth;  "but  we  mustn't  un- 
dervalue what  other  people  have  tried  to  do.  We  can't 
despise  the  methods  of  our  fathers  and  grandfathers 
which  we  inherit,  even  though  we  feel  that,  to  some  extent, 
we've  outUved  them.  A  man  who  is  half-way  up  a  ladder 
mustn't  scorn  the  rungs  by  which  he's  climbed;  because 
without  them  he  wouldn't  be  where  he  is." 

"You  said  just  now."  she  observed,  after  a  minute's 
thmking,  "that  there'c  a  better  way,  only  that  people 
127 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

wotddn't  take  it."    She  fixed  htm  with  the  gaze  of  her 
deep,  liquid  eyes.    "Why  couldn't  I?" 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't— apart  from  the 
conventions  of  the  world  in  which  we  live."  He  asked, 
before  she  could  respond,  "Do  you  know  what  I  meant 
when  I  said  that?" 

"I  suppose  you  meant  what  I  mean.  If  we— if  we  need 
love  more  than  we  need  anjrthing  else— anything  else  in 
the  worldl— then  it— it  must  come  directly  out  of  some 
one's  heart— and  not  from  a  corporation  which  is  organ- 
ized and  supported  by  dollars  and  cents.  We  can't  fur- 
nish love  in  that  way  any  wore  than  the  Tibetans  can 
get  prayer  by  grinding  on  u  prayer-mill.  Isn't  that  some- 
thing  like  what  jrou  meant?" 
"That's  it." 

"And,"  she  continued,  breathlessly,  "you  think  that 
in  our  present — our  present — " 
"Stage  of  human  development,"  he  supplied. 
" — our  present  stage  of  human  development  we're  not 
prepared  to  give  the  personal  love,  which  is  the  only  kind 
that  the  needy  can  be  satisfied  with.    You  think  that, 
don't  you?" 
"It's  what  I  gather-what  I  see," 
"But  some  wie  must  make  a  beginning,  mustn't  they?" 
She  seemed  to  draw  herself  up  in  her  comer  of  the  motor. 
"Very  well,  then.    I  will." 
"You  will— what?" 

"I'll  give  love.    I  can,"  she  went  on,  rapidly.    "It's 
what  I  was  made  for.    I've  given  you  to  understand  that 
ah-eady,  haven't  I?— that  time!— you  remember!—" 
"No,  I  don't  remember." 

"That's  because  you're  so  kind — ^you've  put  it  out  of 
your  memory.    But  it's  not  what  I  want  to  talk  about 
laS 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

now.  I  only  want  yo«  to  see— what,  I  suppoae,  you  do 
see  already— but  I  want  to  be  sure  that  you  see— I  hanlly 
know  how  to  put  it!— that  essentially  I'm  only  that— 
that  feminine  compound  which  has  been  described  as— 
as  a  great  towr.  There!  I've  shocked  you  now,  haven't 
I?— and  yet  I  don't  mean  to.  There's  a  strong  side  to  it, 
as  well  as  a  weak  one — " 

He  said,  with  gentle  significance,  "You  haven't  shocked 
me,  Clorinda." 

She  seemed  not  to  notice  the  use  of  her  own  name  as 
^e  hurried  on.    "The  strong  side  is  that  it's  out  of  women 
like  me  that  nature  makes  not  only  great  wives  and  great 
mistresses,  but  great  mothers.    I  should  have  been  a 
mother.  .   .   .  I'm  so  much  a  mother  that  I  could  love 
ahnost  any  child  as  if  it  was  my  own.  ...  I  begin  to 
think  that  perhaps  I'm  not  a  mother  for  the  very  reason 
that  I  might  take  some  motherless  thing — " 
"  If  you  mean  Pansy  Wilde — " 
"If  I  mean  Pansy  Wilde  it's  only  because  the  little 
creature  wrings  my  heart.    She's  so  like— like  myself  as 
I  might  have  been  at  her  age— as  I  was,  in  some  ways- 
only  that  conditions  hedged  me  in.    But  I  remember— I 
remember  very  clearly.    It  was  only  fourteen  years  ago 
that  I  was  seventeen,  as  she  is  to-day.    And  I  wanted 
just  what  she's  been  looking  foi^I  wanted  love.    I  didn't 
talk  about  it;  but  I  dreamt  of  it;   I  dreamt  of  nothing 
else.     When  it  didn't  come  I  married— but  I  kept  the 
dream.    It  never  came  true— not  in  the  way  in  which  I 
dreamed  it.    It  was  always— always  frustrated— as  I  told 
you— and  you  know."    He  was  about  to  say  that  she 
hadn't  told  him  and  he  didn't  know,  but  she  silenced  him. 
"No;   let  me  go  on.     I  want  you  to  imderstand  that  I 
feel  a  kinship  with  these  poor  girls.    We're  of  the  same 
iig 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


Uteme.    If  •  for  me  to  do  what  may  be  ^T  ft^Tir!? 
th-n«ta^    If  th^-d  let  me  tS'liL'^  *'«-«' 
T»ke  her  in  what  way?" 

hei^'a^fiSn?.*^  '  "^  ""^  '-^ 

n  know  then.-d  i.  difficulties;   but  do  you.  of  .H 
peo^e,  advise  me  to  shrink  fixan  them?"        •'™'  *"  *" 

be  ^t^2  T  ***^''*  "'^  *^''  "'P^'y  ^-^  ''Wch  she'd 
oe  an  umate  of  your  house?" 

»a«i,  or  possibl^^  she  had  the  inteluSe-I  S 

«am  ner  own  hvmg.  .   .      But"— o  r»-+..~.  . 

her  impatience  wTthis  part  ^Ll^bS^.^S^E 
^  toad  The  m^  thing  is  that  my^  W  f^\^ 
^' Jtw   ?  «»*  «»  n^ns  and  the  Uer  to  ^£ 

asLtof  ;t„.i,^  '^'^  •»»m,  to  begin  on  another 
^ectof  the  theme    "Then  I  shouldn't  feel  so  usele«to 

h««K^*i?^  I  always  have  been.    I've  alwavs 

wLl  W  ^  ^  *°.'*  '  ^^'  «>  "»«««*  what  else  I 
'rasi  but  mwardly-don't  think  I'm  wild  or  exdt^ 

I  ve  guessed  as  much  as  that-I've  known  it." 

130 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

« iwuld bdiev*it:  «ad  yet  «gi„j  fire  i,  what  «p«sses 
r^  Only  >f .  been  fire  like  that  of  the  volcano^ 
Sl?°^  *JT  ^^^  a«<^what  wa.  the  n«ne  of  the 
island ?-Martuiique.  wasn't  it?-a  volcano  that  seemed 
so  tame  that  no  one  thought  it  imm  a  volcano.  Grass 
grew  over  it.and  trees;  it  was  just  a  splendid, peaceful  hill. 
Men  dimbed  it.  and  children  played  on  it;  and  then,  one 
fine  monung. . . .  That's  what  I'm  afraid  of . . . .  But  this 
-^on  t  you  »*f-this  would  open  up  a  way  for  me.  It 
would  be  just  m  my  lineHust  the  sort  of  thing  I  could 
do.  Don  t  you  remember  my  telling  you  how  ashamed  I 
was  last  smnmer  to  come  away  from  Paris  because  there 
was  no  way  m  which  I  knew  how  to  help?   But  I  do  know 

A  rr;  ■  ■r.\^°'  ^  *^'^'*  ^  ''  "•'e  Claribd  JaiTott 
and  Colf«  Pol<-^th  grimaces  and  pretty  speeches.  I 
couldn  t  be  a  visitor  at  that  place-^  one  of  your  charity, 
workers  No.  I  could  only  do  it  in  my  own  way^by 
loving^by  being  loved—"  ^ 

He  was  at  the  limit  of  his  strength.  Seizing  the  two 
hands  with  which  she  had  been  making  Uttle  gestures  as 
she  spoke,  he  held  them  tightly.  "/  We  you  Qorind^ 
/love  you.    Let  me  bring  what  you're  craving  for  " 

She  didn't  withdraw  her  hands;  she  allowed  him  to 
hold  them  She  even  leaned  toward  him,  to  observe  him 
more  dosdy.  But  he  watdied  the  Haze  in  her  eyes  die 
down  as  though  something  had  suddenly  put  it  out     It 

seaned  an  immeasurable  time  before  she  spoke.  "Youl— 
a  clergyman t-a— a  priest!" 

"I'm  a  man.  Qorinda."  be  whispered,  hoarsdy. 

fahe  still  allowed  him  to  hold  her  hands,  though  the 
clasp  grew  hmp.  "Yes,"  she  responded,  dully.  'You're 
aman;  but  I  hadn't  th-jght  of  yoo  as  a  man  in-in  just 

«3i 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

"In  what  way  did  you  think  of  me?" 

Her  response  came  slowly.  "I  don't  know.  In  as  far 
as  I've  thought  of  you  at  aU-personally-ifs  been  verv 
much  as  one  might  think  of— of  an  angel." 

She  OTthdrew  her  hands  quietly  and  slipped  *hem  into 
tier  muff.  After  sitting  upright  and  eager  she  fell  back 
into  hex  comer  of  the  motor  with  a  sUence  that  seemed 
to  miply  that  the  last  word  had  been  said.  In  the  few 
mches  by  which  he  strained  toward  her  Bainbridge  felt 
that  he  was  pursuing  her  through  some  long  inward 
Ingnt. 

"But  I'm  not  an  angel,  Clorinda.  I'm  just  a  man:  and 
Its  as  a  man  that  I  love  you.  I  love  you  like  any  other 
man;  only  that  it  seems  to  me  as  if  there  must  be  some- 
tmng  higher  and  stronger  in  my  love  than—" 

../S"®,.""™"^  *^®  '^•^  *^^^^eh  half-dosed  lips. 
Oh,  I  m  very  sure  of  that." 

"No,  that  isn't  what  I  mean.  I  only  say  that  that's 
how  It  seems  to  me-because  I  love  you  so  much.  Anv 
man  would  love  you  with  a  high,  strong  love.  I  simply 
say  that  my  love  is  jo  high  and  so  strong  that  I  feel  as  a 
nothing  would  ever  equal  it." 

There  was  a  kind  of  weariness  in  her  tone.  "And  I 
dare  say  nothing  ever  could.  Onlj^-don't  you  see?-I 
never  thought  of  it.  I'd  put  you-put  you,  in  a  way,  off 
the  earthly  hst.  I'd  thought  of  you  as  my  friend,  in  the 
same  way  that  you're  Maggie's  and  LesUe's— " 

"Do  you  want  me  to  understand  that  there's  no  hope 
for  me?  *^ 

In  the  flood  of  street  electricity  he  caught  a  gleam  in 
her  eyes  hke  that  of  Ught  moving  under  water.  "I  don't 
Jmow  what  you  mean  by  hope." 

"I  mean  hope  that  you  could  tove  me  in  return." 
»3a 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Oh,  that!" 

"Yes,  that." 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak  again,  but  she  said  nothing. 
Instead,  she  leaned  back  in  her  comer  with  eyes  closed. 
Having  jerked  their  way  up  Seventh  Avenue  to  Fourteenth 
Street,  they  were  turning  into  it.  The  thunder  of  tra£Sc 
seemed  to  roll  away  from  the  windows  and  doors  of  the 
car,  leaving  the  two  who  sat  within  isolated  in  a  kind  of 
peace. 

As  the  minutes  were  going  by  and  she  gave  him  no 
answer  Bainbridge  too  fdl  back  into  the  depths  of  the  car. 
"Then's  there's  no  hope,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"You  must  let  me  think,"  she  murmured,  as  if  to  her- 
self. Suddenly  she  added,  "What  would  you  expect  me 
to  do  if  there  was?" 

He  leaned  forward  again.    "Marry  me." 

"Mairy  a  clergyman?    I?" 

"Marry  the  man  you— you  loved.  Wouldn't  that  be 
the  way  to  put  it?" 

"It  might  be,  if— if  we  could  get  things  into  such 
simple  terms.    But  we  can't." 

"Why  can't  we?" 

"I  should  think  you'd  see."  A  few  seconds  went  by 
before  she  added,  "For  me  to  marry  a  clergyman  is  suidy 
inconceivable." 

"It  isn't  inconceivable  that  you  should  marry  the  man 
you  love — if  you  do  love  him." 

"And  that  raises  another  question — if  I  do." 

"Do  you  know  that  you  don't?" 

"I  don't  know  anything — of  the  conditions  into  which 
jrou've  thrown  me.  It's  all  new  to  me,  new  and  strange 
and — and  wonderful." 

"Wonderful?" 

133 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Yef,  wonderful  in  that  ywi  could  think  of  it— with 
legard  to  m4." 

"Oh,  but  it's  just  the  other  way.  That  you  should 
think  of  it— if  you  do  think  of  it— with  regard  to  me— " 

"How  should  I  not  think  of  it?  When  a  man  like  you 
asks  a  woman  like  me  to  be  his  wife,  the  honor  in  itself 
is  so  great — " 

He  leaned  further  forward,  kxddng  into  her  eyes. 
"Honor?    I  don't  undwstand." 

"Oh,  well,  you  would  if  you  were  in  my  place."  She 
raised  herself,  and,  drawing  her  hand  from  her  muflf,  laid 
it  lightly  on  his.  "I  wish  I  could  teU  you.  dear  friend, 
what  it  means  to  me.  It  means  so  much  that  it  makes 
me  afraid.  It's  like  oflEering  knighthood  or  a  medal  for 
distinguished  conduct  to  a  man  who's  been  a  coward  in 
the  battle.  He  might  take  it  just  because  he's  been  a 
coward— and  feel  remorse  for  it  afterward.  That's  one 
thing  I  must  try  not  to  do." 

"Why  try  to  do  anything  but  what  you  spoke  of  a  few 
minutes  ago— just  to  love  and  be  loved?" 

Hm:  smile,  whidi  merely  dawned  and  faded,  made  him 
feel  young  and  inexperienced.  It  was  the  kind  of  smile 
he  had  seen  only  in  great  portraits,  and  once  or  twice  on 
the  stage,  the  smile  behind  which  Ue  memories  beyond 
putting  into  words.  "It's  not  so  simple  as  that.  It 
tmght  be  as  simple  as  that  with  some  one  else— but  not 
between  you  and  me." 

^^  He  tried  to  meet  what  he  conceived  to  be  her  objections. 
"If  it's  because  we're  not  of  the  same  religion—" 

She  swept  this  aside.    "That's  only  part  of  it.  if  it's  a 
part  at  all.    If  I  were  to— to  do  what  you  want,  I  could 
probably  conform  to  your  wishes,  outwardly  at  least." 
"Then  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 
134 


THE   LIFTEf)  VEIL 

"I'm  afraid  of  myself.  I'm  afraid  I  may"— «he  hdd 
the  word  m  suspense,  letting  it  flutter  out  softly— "love 
you." 

He  seemed  to  cry  aloud,  not  from  rtnsngth  of  voice, 
but  from  the  force  of  his  emotion.    "  But  if  you  do—" 

"I  can't  teU.    I  hope  I  don't;  but— but  I  may.' 

"Why  do  you  hope  you  dcm't?" 

"For  every  reason;  for  every  s(»l  of  reason.  I  fed  as 
if  my  love  would— would  scorch  you— would  burn  vou 
up."  ■" 

"Couldn't  you  let  me  take  care  of  that?" 

"And  then,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  his  question,  "tbere's 

something  about  you  that  puzzles  me— that  puts  me  out 

of  all  my  reckonings." 
"What  is  it?    Whatever  it  is,  I'll  give  it  up." 

^  She  smiled,  not  as  before,  but  sweetly  and  rather  fondly. 
'No,  you  couldn't  give  it  up.    It's— it's  your  goodness  " 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not—" 

"No,  of  course;  not  to  yourself.  No  one  ever  is.  But 
it's  the  way  you  seem  to  me;  and  I  can't  teU  you  how  it 
mystifies  me  as  to  all  I  fed  about  you.  You  see,  women 
are  not  used  to  deaHng  with  good  men— I  mean  men 
who've  made  a  kind  of  specialty  of  goodness.  They've 
no  preconceived  ideas  to  apply  to  them-nothing  to  go  by. 
/  haven't.  The  fact  that  you're  what  you  are  and  I'm 
what  I  am  reverees  the  usual  position  of  a  woman  and  a 
man.    It  makes  me  so  humble—" 

"Cfh,  don't  say  that,"  he  pleaded,  quidcly. 

"I  must  say  it.  If  I  don't  you  won't  see  how  confused 
I  am,  nor  what  it  is  that  confuses  me.  It's  like  looking 
at  an  object  that  stands  too  directly  in  the  sun.  You 
can't  see  its  cokff;  you  can  hardly  see  its  shape.  We 
human  beings  need  shadows  to  show  us  the  true  valuer" 
I3S 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


HI! 


'I'm  just  like  an;^ 


"But,  aorinda,"  he  protested, 
other  man." 

"Oh  no,  you're  not."  She  smUed  once  more,  the  fine 
lummous  smile  that  Ht  up  the  deUcate  beauty  of  her  face 
with  t«idemess  and  inteUigence.  "  You're  far  from  being 
hte  other  men.  You've  a  whole  range  of  thought  which 
most  men  don't  possess;  you  speak  a  different  language  " 
She  surprised  him  by  going  on  to  say,  almost  without 
^ange  of  tone:  "Would  you  mind  getting  out  when 
there  s  a  convement  opportunity?  With  all  you've  been 
saymg-^d  what  we  went  through  before  that  with  the 
children— I  m  rathei^-rather  overwhehned." 

"I'll  do  anything  you  wish.    But  you'll  let  me  come 
to-morrow?" 

She  r^ected.  "No,  not  to-morrow.  It's  Christmas 
Day  and  you'U  have  your  services.  Then  you'U  be 
dmmg  with  the  Galloways.  I  shaU  be  dining  with  the 
Colfax  Poles.  I  was  to  have  dined  with  LesUe  and  Maggie 
but  when  they  went  away  Colfax  and  Julia  were  good 
enough  to  ask  me.  Not  to-morrow,  then— but  soon  " 
"How  soon?" 

"I  cto't  teU  you  that.  Probably  very  soon.  When 
I VB  had  a  httle  time  to  myself  and  got  used  to  an  idea 
that  seems  so  impossible  to  me  now—" 
"And  I  may  call  you  Clorinda,  mayn't  I?" 
"I'd  rather  you'd  call  me  what  you  like-without  ask- 
mg  my  permission.  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  pennission 
to  giTO.  With  regard  to  you"-^again  the  sweet  smile 
seemed  to  him  what  dawn  is  to  summer— "with  regard 
to  you  I'm  only  like  a  beggar  at  the  gates.  Do  just  as 
you  please." 

"Then  I  shaU  caU  you  Clorinda— but  only  when  we're 
alone — jret." 

136 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Yes;  perhaps  that  will  be  better."   She  began  taking 
ofiE  the  glove  of  her  left  hand,  speaking  while  she  did  so. 
"To-morrow  is  Christmas  Day,  and  I've  sent  yoi'  some 
of  the  new  books.    No,  don't  thank  me.    I  wanted  you 
to  see  that  I  thought  of  you—and  that  I  was  grateful. 
But  It  isn't  enough— now."    She  drew  oflE  a  ring.   "Here- 
take  this."    She  slipped  it  into  his  hand.    "It's  only  a 
ring— any  ring.    No  one  gave  it  to  me;  there's  no  senti- 
ment attached  to  it ;  I  bought  it  myself.    But  I  want  you 
to  have  it."    As  he  bent  over  it  and  pressed  the  half-hcop 
of  diamonds  to  his  lips,  she  went  on  with  feverish  rapidity: 
"It  doesn't  mean  anything— that  is,  no  more  than  just 
to  mark  your  extraordinary  goodness.    Do  you  remember 
my  saj-ing  that  I  wanted  to  be  put  back  where  I  was 
before?    No,  perhaps  not,"  she  continued,  as  he  looked 
up  and  shook  his  head.    "But  I  did  say  it;  and  I  feel 
now  as  if— as  if  it  had  been  done.    Whatever  happens 
after  this— whatever  decision  I  come  to— the  ring  will 
tell  you  that— that  something  seems  to  have  rolled  a. -ay 
from  me— that  at  last  I've  been  set  free."   With  a  sudden 
pressiure  of  the  brake  the  car  stopped  near  the  curb. 
"Don't  you  think  you  could  get  out  now?" 

It  was  only  after  kissing  her  bared  hand  rapturously 
that  Bainbridge  found  himself  on  the  pavement,  borne 
along  m  the  Christinas  crowd.  He  was  dazed  and  ecstatic 
He  would  have  felt  himself  waking  from  a  dreaim  had  it 
not  been  for  the  ring,  with  its  diamond  edges,  cutting 
into  his  clenched  hand. 


Mr 


CHAPTER  X 

OUT  to  fill  in.  or  mther  to  reconstruct,  his  portrait  of 
»-'  Uormda  was  not.  when  Bainbridge  came  to  do  it 

^W^l^t!^^***°^'''*°'*-  The  figure  whoni 
?L^J!^^  "*  *  ^^'y  ^°^  '^  "rtained  glass 
^.,^^^l°"*'^^''^«^*°life.  She  his 
both  disturbed  his  vision  and  rendered  it  more  marvel- 
«isly  beautiful.  "«rv«a 

That  is,  where  he  had  beheld  an  ideal,  woven  of  dreams 
and  magic  tissu^^here  began  to  emeige  a  woman  who 

beset  his  s«ises  because  she  was  made  of  flesh  and  blood 
Moreover  he  was  conscious  that  in  ways  he  couldn't 

understand  she  outflanked  his  mental  range.  Her  verv 
wilhngness  to  put  herself  at  his  feet  was  but  the  sign  rf 
somethmg  great  in  her;  her  habit  of  referring  to  nLio. 
ries  between  them  of  things  of  which  there  were  no  memc^ 
r«  might  have  harked  back  to  a  common  life  together 
before  either  of  them  was  bom. 

And  yet  when,  a  few  days  after  Christmas,  she  sent  for 
tei.  ,t  was  to  show  herself  in  an  aspect  in  which  he  had 
not  seen  her  heretofore-simple  and  domestic.  Conscious- 
ly wnot  she  had  chosen  the  early  part  of  the  forenoon 
asbest  smted  to  her  purpose.     Whfle  he  waited  in  the 

^.l\  ^L::^'^  ^  "^^  ^y  "^-  «  kind  of 
oflSce.  that  opened  from  it,  where  she  was  evidently  talk- 
ing to  the  cook. 

138 


-:■! 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"So  ttafs  uadewtood.  Ctherine.    Not  quite  »  much 

Mlt  m  the  ««i»--«nd  the  nert  ttrne  we  have  «n  omelette 
in  come  to  the  Idtdiea  myielf  and  show  you  how  to 
make  it. 

Ba^bridge  could  not  have  said  why  these  words  should 
have  been  consoling  to  him;  bat  a  sense  o£  consolation 
foUowed  lum  ^en  he  was  showr  into  the  little  nxan. 
Where  he  found  her  seated  at  a  desk  which  combined  a 
suggestion  of  business  with  French  eighteenth-century 
elegance.  A  large  check-book  lay  open  before  her,  and 
ajpUe  of  ravelopes  stamped  for  the  poet  stood  neatly 
beadeit.  Everything  stood  neatly.  Among  the  papen 
there  was  no  disorder;  not  a  pen  nor  a  pencil  was  dis- 
placed. He  could  see  her  as  one  of  these  women  who 
cannot  move  without  producing  an  eSect  of  the  finished. 
of  the  exquisite.  ™i««m. 

He  received  the  same  impression  from  her  dress.  Dimly 
he  had  expected  to  find  her  shimmering  in  green  and 
silver,  with  emeralds  and  diamonds  round  her  ned^-or 
m  one  or  another  of  the  imposing  robes  she  had  worn  at 
thar  previous  meetings.  Nothing  could  have  been 
Idamer  than  the  short,  bUck  skirt  of  this  morning,  nor 
the  long  .qien.  white  collar,  a  loose  frill  of  lawn,  that 
descended  to  the  bust,  where  three  laige  silver  buttons, 
each  carved  as  a  different  flower,  formed  her  only  orna- 
ment. Her  hair,  dressed  low  on  the  neck,  displayed  the 
diapehnessofthehead;  on  her  fingers  she  wore  nothing 
but  her  wedding-ring. 

^e  greeted  him  with  gentle  familiarity,  without  rising 
from  ^e  desk.  In  bowing  over  her  hand  and  pressing  it 
tohishpshewas,thoughhescaredyknewitasyet  doing 
^^^FJ°.^.^J^  conception  of  her  as  a  housewife. 
lUe  fact  that  she  could  make  an  omdette  and  pay  her 
»39 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

-  bills  by  check  brought  her  down  wh(dly  from  .'^he  stained 
gl^  and  within  the  drde  of  women  he  mig!  c  many 

Her  first  words,  too,  were  a  reUef  to  him.  "Do  sit 
down.  I'm  so  glad  you  were  able  to  come.  I  wanted  to 
a^you  about  these  attacks  on  Leslie  and  Maggie  Pal- 
Having  been  half  afraid  of  some  such  high  note  as  that 
on  which  they  had  parted  a  few  days  earlier,  he  found  the 
tone  dehoously  confidential  and  matterK)f-fact  It  was 
suited  to  the  morning,  to  the  oozy  little  room  with  its  fire 
on  the  hearth,  its  miniatures  and  figurines,  and  the 
cnsp,  snowy  air  outside. 

He  seated  himself  in  an  arm^Jiair  which  relieved  any 
feehng  of  over-fastidiousness  in  the  surroundings  by 
bemg  homey  and  worn.  It  was  not  easy  to  bring  his 
mmd  to  Leshe  and  Maggie  and  their  afiairs;  but  he  saw 
It  as  the  tactful  thing  to  do.  -'J  didn't  know  they  were 
stiU  gomg  on— the  attacks." 

"Yes;  there's  another  article  this  week.  It  isn't 
worth  while  looking  at  it  if  you  haven't  seen  it  already 
but  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  yon  can  think  of  any  way  bv 
which  they  might  be  stopped." 

He  reflected:  "I  don't  *«<w  of  any  way;  but  we  might 
find  one.  * 

"I  talked  to  Endsleigh  Jarrott  about  it  yesterday  He 
said  It  was  difficult.  He  didn't  admit  it  in  so  many 
words,  but  I  think  he  tried  it  once  when  there  had  been 
a  lot  about  Claribel  and  a  Mr.  Searle.  What  he  said  was 
that  there  was  no  one  to  get  at  or  to  whom  you  could 
ai^.  There  seemed  to  be  no  real  agent  in  New  York 
and  no  one  who  would  call  himself  responsible.  He'd 
found  It  like  fighting  somethi^ig  in  the  air;  there  were 
no  weapons  by  which  you  could  strike  at  it" 
140 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"So  long  as  there's  a  pubUc  for  that  sort  of  thine—" 
he  began,  musingly. 

"That's  the  curious  part  of  it.  that  there's  not  only  a 
pnbhc,  but  that  it's  largely  made  up  of  the  people  whose 
hearts  are  torn  out,  as  you  might  say,  and  sdd  in  the 
shambles.  Endsleigh  and  Claribel,  for  instance  who 
were  ahnost  separated  by  it— there  was  some  truth  in 
the  stones!— are  still  its  regular  readers." 

"And  there  generally  is  some  truth  in  the  stories 
Thats  another  queer  thing.  Whoever  the  responsible 
people  are,  you  can't  often  accuse  them  of  lying  Take 
the  case  of  LesUe  and  Maggie.  Neither  you  nor  I  who 
know  them  so  well,  had  any  idea  that  there  were  differ- 
ences between  them  tiU  they  were  brought  up  in  this 
way."  ^ 

He  saw  in  her  eyes  that  gleam  which  he  had  rften  com- 
pared to  light  moving  under  water.  "I  had,"  she  said 
snnply.  Unnecessarily  she  straightened  the  pile  of 
stamped  envelopes,  the  inkstand,  the  pen-tray,  the  small 
decorative  objects  on  her  desk,  as  she  added:  "At  least 
I  knew  that  LesUe  wasn't  happy.  I  didn't  know  that 
Maggie-that  Maggie  had  noticed  anything  till  she  tdd 
us  the  other  day." 

Her  embarrassment,  the  tinge  of  color  in  her  cheeks 
conveyed  nothing  to  him  but  a  natural  reluctance  iii 
speaking  of  the  troubles  of  her  friends.     "I  hadn't  the 
faint^t  suspicion  of  anything,"  he  declared,   frankly 
tiU  I  chanced  on  it  in  that  paper.    Even  then  I  wasn't 
^^°^  '*'  ®'"*P*  in  as  far  as  Maggie  might  believe  it  " 
That  s  all  there  is  really  to  be  afraid  of."    She  ex- 
plained further:    "Nobody  we  care  about  would  attach 
importance  to  the  matter.   It's  curious,  the  attitude  people 
take  toward  that  sort  of  thing.    Thej-  love  to  read  if 
141 


1 1!) 
If 


ir'' 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

but  they're  neither  shocked  nor  acatxUUcad  by  what  it 
tells  them,  and  hardly  disapprove.  Then,  too,  a«  thia 
particular  publication  never  mentions  any  one  but  the 
people  most  in  view,  it's  considered  abnoet  an  honor  to  get 
into  it,  no  matter  how  you  may  be  pilloried.  I've  known 
women  in  New  York — women  you'd  expect  to  be  quite 
above  that  queer  strain  ct  vanity — ^idio've  been  delighted 
to  be  noticed  by  it,  even  when  it's  been  only  in  the  way 
of  sopte  uncomplimentary  remark  about  their  ages.  It's 
one  of  those  odd  American  weaknesses  that  you  don't 
find  anywhere  else.  But,  as  you  say,  the  trouble  lies  in 
the  effect  on  Maggie." 

He  spoke  with  some  perplexity.  "  Up  to  now  I  thought 
I  understood  her.    I  find,  however,  that — " 

"That  you  don't,"  she  broke  in,  with  animatioo. 
"No,  you  wouldn't.  Probably  no  man  could.  It's  ooly 
a  woman  who  understands  another  woman's  desire  to 
dominate." 

"Oh,  I  understand  that  well  enough— on  Maggie's 
part." 

"Yes,  to  the  extent  that  you  see  her  as  an  intensely 
dominating  creature.  That,  of  course,  is  her  idiosyncrasy. 
Every  woman  isn't  like  that.  But  every  woman  does 
want  to  rule  the  heart  of  the  man  she  loves.  She  wants 
to  feel  it  hets — that  no  other  woman  has  a  part  of  it. 
Maggie  may  exaggerate  tl '  because  of  her  exaggerated 
sense  of  possession  in  general;  and  yet  it's  fundamental 
to  us  all." 

"  If  she'd  only  gone  another  way  to  work  with  Leslie —  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    I'm  afraid  he  would  have  eluded 

her  in  any  case.    No  woman  would  ever" — ^her  color 

deepened — "would  ever  hold  him  long.    That  may  be 

because  c^  the  complex  feminine  streak  in  himself.    It's 

143 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

BauAridge  wondered  how  in  this  lirting  she  rmted 

^;  ^*,''t  "^c'  "^^-  "AnyhowlTtope  this  S 
to  mate  Sulphur  Springs  may  bring  them  together." 

f,rJ Mrj    "^  ^  *ogetbi>r;  but  it  may  keep  them 

^th^^J^*"'^-  Th«y'U  never  beteought 
to^er  m  Magg»  thinks  she's  got  him  undHer 
t^b  and  she'U  ,^  get  him  under  her  thumb  tiU 
irtn^f^r^^-  Wh^  he  does  that-if  she'd 
li^J^  ^^^^  "^K*"*  *«°"  into  subjection  of  his 

rr°:?--  "?"*  *'•*'  P-^^^^P*"  «^°  «  *«  keep  op^ 
the  wound  .^  their  relations  by  stabbing  at  iT^rn^ 

^d  only  stop  them  they'd  be  a  source  of  irritation  ^ 

int^,!"^**  "  happiness  to  sit  talking  with  her  in  this 
^^  "^rr*  "^PP^*^  *^*  *he  discussion  meant 
•nore  than  the  object.  His  rmaria  were  made  in^t 
^er  he  had  acquired  since  knowing  her,  a  mamaer  by 
wh.di  he  could  answer  her  questions  and  put  forth  his 
cjpmions  qmte  lucidly,  while  really  thinking  <rf  her  of 
the  turn  of  her  head,  of  the  delicate  molding  of  her  wrist 
of  the  distinction  of  her  utterance,  of  the  quiet^S 
h«  momnents  He  could,  thenrfore.  not  have^^ 
the  trar^tions  by  which  after  a  few  minutes  he  ^ 
her  speakmg  of  Pansy  WUde. 

ww'r  ^,f^  t°  think  it  well  over,  and  to  know  just 
what  I  should  hke  to  be  allowed  to  do.    If  they'd  let  ml 

take  her  I  should  make  her.  at  fc^.  a  sort  of  ^^t  to 
my  own  maid-to  do  sewing  and  mending  and  that  kind' 
t^:.  ^l  w^jld  give  her  a  comfor^ble  home^J 
«5nng  her  right  under  my  own  eye.  I've  talked  to  Al- 
Phonsme  about  her.  and  got  her  sympathy.  AsaPreoch- 
143 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

wcman  the'i  already  interetted  in  the  heroine  of  what 
she  calls  a  dram*  fassiontl,  however  pitiful.  After  that 
we  could  see." 

"You  could  see— ?" 

"How  far  we  could  go  and  what  we  could  do.  If  the 
little  tUng  was  happy  with  me— and  I  think  I  could 
promise  you  that,  without  spoiling  her  or  attempting 
anything  foolish,  I  could  make  her  happy — but  if  she  was 
happy  with  me,  we  could  then  decide  on  what  would  be 
best  for  her — whether  more  training  of  a  domestic  kind, 
or  more  education,  or  what." 

He  thought  it  right  to  warn  her.  "You'd  probably 
meet  with  all  sorts  of  disillusions  and  disappointments  in 
Pansy  herself." 

"Oh,  I  know  that;  but  it  would  be  part  of  my  work 
to  wrestle  with  them,  to  circumvent  them,  wouldn't  it? 
You  see  I  don't  want  to  go  into  this  thing  just  senti- 
mentally or  as  a  fad;  I  want  to  give  myself  to  the 
healing  and  restoration  of  this  child  as  seriously  as  Miss 
Macy  gave  herself  up  to  teaching  Helen  Keller.  I  dare 
say  it  may  seem  to  you  a  great  deal  for  one  when  there 
are  so  many — " 

He  denied  this  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"But  I  feel  equal  to  it  in  the  case  erf  one,  when  more 
would  frighten  me." 

"  It  seems  to  me  all  you  should  attempt." 

"For  the  present,  at  any  rate;  only  that  there  is  some- 
thing else.  You  say  that  Pansy  has  a  widowed  mother 
and  some  brothers  and  sisters." 

He  gave  her  the  details  of  the  family,  adding  that 
since  the  girl  had  fled  from  home,  and  had  later  been 
brought  into  court,  the  mother  had  not  seen  her. 

"Then  I  should  try  to  bring  them  together.  I  shouldn't 
144 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

faymoTB  than  that  This  would  give  me  a  chance  to 
•ee^  see  what  I  could  do  to  help  the  mother-aa^ 
to  educate  the  other  childnm.  who  must  be  young  ri^ 
Pa«^«  the  eldest."    She  clasped  her  hands  and  o^ 

thmk  me  presuming  or  ovw^bitious.    You  see  I'm- 

i^rScS'^"  ^'•'"r^^he^pp-^traJiit 

of  her  mcome,  gomg  on  hurriedly  to  say:  "That's  no 
^ortnoj^  w«dth  a«»nling  to  the  standards^  New 
York;  but  .fs  more  than  enough  for  one.  and  I  harSy 
em  g.^  any  of  ,t  away.  Giving  away  money  genS^^ 
seems  to  me  so  aimless,  and  so-so  futile  ••  ^ 

He  nsponded  dreamUy  because  each  minute  seemed  to 
^  him  some  new  revelation  of  her  character     "I'm 

b^nnmg  to  think  it  «futae  in  the  majority  of  cases.  oS 
philanthropies  deal  largely  with  effects  r«her^  S 

«^.  and  so  our  generosity  becomes  a  me«  pourinrof 
nwney  mto  bags  with  holes."  i~"'^g  oi 

"To  me,"  she  declared,  "it  seems  so  cold,  so  lifeless,  to 
pve  money  ajid  not-how  shaU  I  say?-not  accompany 
It  with  oneself.    Do  you  see  what  I  mean?" 
I  think  I  do." 

fh'J'^A^^^  *  ^"°*^'  "•  »  thousand,  or  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  a  cause,  and  it  remains  just  a  caused 
r^ote-mipersonal.  You  don't  see  what  becomes  of 
your  money;  you  ve  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Other  peoole 
^d  It.  whether  usefuUy  or  not  you've  no  ae^^f 

^T^^-Jl  °^  ^''^  '"^^  you  leam  in  the  end 
that  It  s  been  wasted.  But  whichever  way  it  is,  you'i^ 
hdpless:  you're  Ignored;  you're  shut  out.  I've  no  doubt 
that  m  many  cases  it  has  to  be  Mke  that;  but  I'm  only 

Sii^r;  ■•'*"  '°  "^  '"^^  ''^  "^^  ''''  -*  «-«-"y 

145 


If 


II'  '    i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"I  quite  undentaad." 

She  smiled  on  him  with  what  he  considered  an  adorable 
bmnility.  "You  see,  J  want  to— to  go  with  the  money; 
to  have  the  money  go  with  me,  and  not  insttad  at  me.  I 
want  to  know — to  make  it  not  merely  a  dead  gift,  but  a 
kind  of— a  kind  of  expression  of  my^.  Oh,  I  daie  say 
I'm  very  foolisb— but  it's  the  way  I  feel-^the  way  I've 
always  felt — and  so,  if  you  could  help  me  again,  as  you've 
helped  me  in  so  many  ways  already — " 

Fortunately  the  subject  was  one  he  could  discuss  with 
greater  knowledge  than  the  regulation  of  journalism.  He 
tdd  her  of  the  different  authonties  who  would  have  the 
matter  in  their  hands.  There  would  be  the  judge  <rf  the 
Juvenile  Court  who  had  sent  Pansy  Wilde  to  the  House 
<rf  Comfort;  there  would  be  the  directors  of  the  House 
itsdf;  there  would  be  Miss  Downie;  there  would  be 
Pansy's  mother;  last  of  all  there  would  be  Pansy  herself. 
On  Pansy  herself  he  dwelt  at  some  length,  painting  her 
in  tolerably  dark  colors.  She  was  likely  to  prove  rebel- 
lious, refractory.  You  couldn't  always  judge  by  refine- 
ment of  manner  and  dark  videt  eyes.  In  spite  of  these 
reassuring  indications  the  heart  could  easily  be  wilful. 
If  Pansy  hadn't  been  wilful  she  wouldn't  be  where  she 
was.    Miss  Higgins  had  given  her  a  good  home,  and  yet — 

Qorinda  broke  in,  pityingly.  "Oh,  that  poor  thingi  I 
know  she's  a  good  woman  and — and, harmless;  but  I 
can't  imagine  any  eager  young  girl  being  influenced  by 
her,  one  way  or  another.  You  see,  my  interest  in  the 
matter  is  not  in  Pansy  Wilde  herself;  it's  in  trying  to 
hdp  any  one— a«r  o«»— who's  gone  wrong  in  this  particu- 
lar way.  This  child  appeals  to  me  only  because  she's  at 
the  beginning  of  her  troubles,  and  her  experience  has  been 
so  tragic." 

»46 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


Each  one  ot  then  has  a 


"Tbat't  true  of  them  aU. 
tragedy  bdnnd  her." 

to  h?*?  *''m'^J'  ]^'^  aeen  Paaay  and  felt  d«wn 
to  her.  I  could  take  ahnost  any  one  of  them  at  random." 

S^^v  ^^^  "^^  **  "'^^  PJ-*  °f  *e 
dfS?"  '^**  *"  ""^  '°*'^  *^«  *"*«Pt- 

•  'i?LT^  "**•  '*'"  *^y  *•»»*•  '™'^K  the  type  of 
prl  better  than  you  do,  I'm  afraid  you  may  find  the  whole 
thing  diacouraging." 

"Do  I  strike  you  as  a  person  who  would  shrink  from 
discouragement?" 

"No;  but  you  might  easily  be  baflBed  by  Pansy's  own 
mdmataons.  She  might  not  be  happy  in  your  house,  as 
she  d  thmk  of  happiness,  and  then—" 

"She'd  be  free.  I  should  never  attempt  to  hdd  her  by 
force  If  bemg  a  friend  to  her,  a  sister,  didn't  win  her  I 
should  admit  that  I  had  faaed." 

"And  then,"  he  began,  with  an  apologetic  smile,  "one 
has  to  take  mto  consideration  the  fact  that-that  you 
yourself  might  tire  of  the  experiment—" 

With  one  hand  on  her  desk,  and  the  other  hanging  over 

the  back  of  the  chair,  she  straightened  herself  royally 

Then  you  do  think  I'm  going  into  it  as  a  fad.    I'm  the 

Idle  nch  woman  seeking  a  new  pwtime.     You  don't 

know  me. 

He  seiMd  the  <q,ening  to  say:  "I  know  you  so  weU 
that  I  want  to  know  you  better.  Isn't  that  the  substance 
«  what  I  said  the  other  afternoon?" 

"That's  exactly  the  substance-^or  the  time  being. 
Suppose-  she  b^an  again,  slowly,  with  meticutous 
care,  to  rearrange  the  objects  on  the  desk— "suppose  i 
we  left  it  at  that— for  now?" 

14? 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


U  ' 


"You  mean— left  it  all  in  the  air?" 

"That's  a  very  good  expression.  If  it  were  all  in  the 
air  we  should  live  in  it — breathe  it  is — get  used  to  it — 
or  know  whether  we  could  ever  get  used  to  it  or  not." 

"But  I  know  that  already." 

"Oh  no,  you  don't.  This  is  one  of  the  rare  subjects  on 
which  I'm  wiser  than  you.  Believe  me,  you're  not  used 
to  it.  You  see  a  vision  in  the  clouds  which  you'd  like  to 
bring  down  to  earth;  but  you  don't  know  what  it  would 
be  like  if  you  got  it  there.    Neither  of  us  knows." 

"And  you  suggest — ?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  smile  in  which  he  found  a 
mingling  of  tenderness  and  radiance.  "Isn't  it  very  nice 
as  it  is — ^like  this?  You're  £ree  to  come  and  go,  and  to 
know  that  we  have  this  secret  between  us — while  we  both 
test  the  possibilities:— " 

"And  would  it  be  like  that  for  long?" 

The  smile  faded.  If  her  gravity  did  not  became  a 
frown  it  was  because  of  her  inexpressible  gentleness.  "No; 
and  it  needn't — it  needn't  be  like  that  at  all,  if  you'd  be 
content  with  the  answer — " 

He  hastened  to  interrupt.  "I  shall  not  be  content  with 
any  answer  that  doesn't  give  me  the  thing  I  most  want 
in  the  WQild." 

"If  the  thing  you  most  want  in  the  world  is — is  what 
you  asked  me  the  other  afternoon,  then  I'm  not  sure 
whether  I  can  ever  give  it  to  you  or  not.  As  I  said  then — 
I  might.  But  if  so,  you  must — you  must  give  me  time. 
If  you  can't  do  that — " 

"Oh,  but  I  can,"  he  declared,  eagerly.  "I  want  you 
to  have  all  the  time  you  need;  and  in  the  mean  while — " 

"Id  the  mean  while,  you  mustn't  urge  me.  You  must 
let  me  feel  free.  You  must  feel  free  yourself.  If  it  should 
148 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

come  to  you  that— that  you'd  made  a  mistake  in  asking 
a  woman  like  me  to  be  your  wife — " 

"Oh,  don't !"  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  edge  of  the 
cry  was  tempered  by  a  smile,  the  protest  in  it  was  un- 
mistakable. 

Her  own  smile  returned,  less  radiant,  it  seemed  to  him, 
than  a  few  minutes  earlier,  but  more  tender.  "Then  I 
won't.  That  part  of  it  is  over.  I  shall  not  go  back  to  it 
again.  I  see— I  see  that  to— to  keep  referring  tait  night 
«sily  become— become  intolerable.  Besides,"  she  stum- 
bled on,  brokenly—"  and  this  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
thmgs  about  it— the  fact  that  you  can  dismiss  it  from 
your  mind  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  dismiss  it  fnan 
mine.  I  realized  that  the  other  evening  in  the  car  I 
said  so,  didn't  I?  And  I've  felt  it  ever  since-as  if  some- 
tting  had  been  roUed  away,  as  if  a  weight  had  been  taken 
frommyhedrt."  She  went  on  so  rapidly  that  he  had  not 
time  to  be  bewildered.  "But  now  we  understand  each 
other,  don't  we?  We'U  let  this-this  great  thing  be 
WeU  just  Uve.  We've  plenty  to  do-things  that  will 
bnng  us  together.  You'll  come  and  see  me  whenever 
you  hke— and  whenever  I  want  you  111  write  or  call  you 
up— and  if  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  we  see—" 

He  felt  it  to  his  advantage  to  rise.  "Let  us  have  i  -^ 
few  weeks  first,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  Don't  let  us  prophesy 
or  make  arrangements.  As  you  say,  let  us  live-with 
this  great  thing,  as  you  caU  it,  in  the  aii--between  us— 
to  breathe  in." 


CHAPTER  XI 


r\N  the  bMis  <rf  this  pact  Bainbridsp  puaed  through 
^^^  a  number  o£  weeks  which  remained  in  iiis  memory 
as  a  period  of  poignant,  high-struag  happiness.  Many 
factors  entered  into  it,  factors  through  which  his  pereonal 
aims  were  in  a  measure  earned  out  by  a  great  imperscaial 
striving. 

It  was  that  moment  in  the  winter  ot  1915  when  America 
awoke  with  amazement  and  pain  to  the  fact  that  the 
worid  was  in  agony  and  calling  on  her  for  aid.    It  was 
true  ihat  aid  had  been  given  in  the  previous  summer  and 
autumn,  but  as  to  the  victims  of  a  vast  catastrophe, 
another  and  jaightier  Messina  or  St.  Pierre.    The  war 
was  to  last  a  few  weeks,  or  a  few  months  at  most.    It  had 
been  supposed  that  the  need  once  met  would  be  over. 
But  the  dawn  of  that  new  year  was  also  the  dawn  of  a 
new  phase  of  perception.    It  began  to  be  seen  that  the 
Med  was  not  only  urgent,  but  that  it  would  nmain  urgent. 
Once  met,  it  had  to  be  met  again;   being  met  again,  it 
had  to  be  met  again.    Pain  presented  herself  as  the  com- 
panion  figure  to  War  and  spoke  in  words  of  even  mora 
mipcrative  command.     Pain  brought  her  sister  Want 
Pam  and  Want  together  lifted  up  their  voices  in  a  cry 
swJi  as  no  man  hving  had  ever  heard  the  like  of.    Bain- 
bndge  was  one  of  the  miUions  of  his  fdlow-countrymen 
who  listened  and  were  thrilled. 


IHE   LIFTED  VEIL 

'■'»>  atu  m  oe  one  for  his  physical  streiurth     Th« 
m  Keeping  with  his  spiritual  trfBco     r^  ♦>,.  -^     . 

nr^l,*^?!  T*  "*^°^  '''■y  ««'««■  ««Mels  should 

^«^hedulwhathe<»uldathame.  Wi^a^^ 
irSonaSo^'SlslV""*  cUss  of  „H«e  or 
h^  a  cha«,p.an  of  men.  New  York  sbiv^eTT 
and  hourly  with  men  and  women  he  never  knewT 


tlllv  at  bomfi  in  h; 


fully  at  1 


ty. 


9  surroundings  as  ii 


and  bred  in  New  York.    From  New  Yo 


•third  year,  an^ 
'  he  had  been  1 
"ric,  too,  he 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

getting  that  notice  which  intelligence  and  single-hearted- 
ness seldom  fail  to  exact  from  the  crowd.  His  slight 
figure  with  its  rapid  movements,  and  glowing  face  with 
dean-shaven,  somewhat  ascetic,  and  distinctly  aristo- 
cratic features,  was  easily  recognized  in  the  streets,  and 
his  name  was  often  in  print.  Men  approved  of  him  soberly, 
while  women  commended  his  small,  keen  blue  eyes  that 
looked  light  through  you,  and  thick  fair  hair  in  which 
they  saw  a  ripple  like  that  made  by  a  summer  wind  in 
passing  over  a  grain-field,  as  helps  in  treading  the  narrow 
way.  Of  such  comments  as  these,  however,  or  of  any 
comments  at  all,  he  himself  was  scarcely  more  aware 
than  a  locomotive  of  the  opinions  of  the  passengers  it 
drags  along. 

For  in  his  present  activities  he  had  the  joy  of  drawing 
nearer  to  Clorinda  and  of  seeing  her  in  other  lights.  It 
was  one  of  his  first  discoveries  that  in  the  new  movements 
of  help  she  took  a  part  that  surprised  him.  She  might 
have  been  classed  among  the  many  American  women  who 
had  waked  from  a  state  d  idleness  and  helplessness. 
With  the  needs  of  other  countries  reacting  on  the  needs 
of  their  own,  there  seemed  to  be  bom  in  them  a  new 
consciousness.  The  sense  <rf  being  useless  with  which 
she  had  returned  from  Europe  having  passed,  she  became 
suddenly  energetic  and  effective.  What  she  lacked  in  ex- 
perience she  made  up  by  intelligence.  While  keeping  to 
the  background  in  the  undertakings  to  which  she  lent  her 
efforts  or  her  name,  she  came,  nevertheless,  to  be  recog- 
nized as  both  fertile  in  suggestion  and  whole-hearted  in 
devotion. 

To  Bainbridge  she  appeared  also  to  be  rested.  Some- 
thing he  could  only  call  life-weariness  had  dropped  away 
from  her.    One  might  have  said  that  after  long  and  fruit- 

IS3 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


few  sedaag  she  was  satisfied.    Satisfaction  b««ght  with 

torn  her  vo.ce  and  countenance.    It  was  impo^te 
^^  to  reckon  ,t  as  other  than  the  pe«=e  that^S^  ^ 

So  throughout  January  they  worked  together  to  eet 
^ey.  food,  clothes,  doctors,  nurses,  and^^  „e<S 
mties.    It  was  work  of  such  inunediate  pr^^^ 
^nnnute  at  least,  to  make  their  more  toto^  L2 
sem  far  away.    They  did  not  forget  them  or  igno^  t W 

to  r^e^w  rf  *"»  *°  "«^-  They  auted  7h^' 
to  recede,  but  to  loom  up  in  the  distance,  splendid,  noble 

ll  ^^I'^f  «""«<=  of  Bainbridge  that  his  ^S 
should  be  conducted  th««gh  what  he  could  do  f^W 
^  equaUy  characteristic  of  Clorinda  that  Z  S^d 
accept  bsapproaches  in  this  way,  when  she  might  hav« 
^  from  methods  more  direct.    A]lthK«SSau^ 

by  miphcation  only;  though  each  knew  of  the  oth«  ^ 
It  was  never  absent  from  the  consciousness  ^  ^"^^ 

And  yet  Bainbridge  was  not  so  immersed  in  new  under- 
takings as  to  forget  the  marital  rescue  of  1^^^^ 
Maggie  Palliser.  or  the  social  salvati^S  pl^de 

With  regard  to  the  fonner  he  could  only^  L^^ 
m«.  the  partially  estranged  couple  retunL^,;^^ 
Sulphur  Sprmgs  he  did  his  best  to  divert  them  fmn! 
rnutual  „^p„«ch  by  engaging  their  serSron^^ 
the  suffering     Though  by  this  means  he  occup^2 

S^      Tti°  ""'"  *°  ''^"^  «»«  sen^  ^tati^ 
which  each  produced  on  the  other  ""wuon 

bvtw'^r  '**f8P^.^t='  <«  gospel  everything  printed 

oy   hat  rotten  sheet."  LesHe  declared,  doggedly. '"ifs  5 

IS3 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

iw  for  ine  to  take  any  stept  toward  •nooadlktiao.  We 
Uve  in  the  same  house;  I  dare  lay  we  shall  toon «)ofaigK>; 
I  make  the  ooDCMsion  for  the  diildnn'i  Mke.  Othcnriae 
I  can  think  o*  lo  greater  happineai  than  to  be  quit  of  this 
''■'nned  big  ectablishment— and  oo  my  own  again." 

"So  loi^;  as  there's  another  woman  in  Lealie's  life," 
Maggie  insisted,  with  sorrowful  determination,  "you 
needn't  speak  on  his  behalf.  I  did  what  you  asked  me  to, 
Arthur;  I  went  away  with  him.  But  I  couldn't  go  so 
far  as  not  to  see  the  papers,  and— well,  we  don't  gain 
anything  by  talking.  When  you  think  of  what  LesHe 
owes  to  me,  the  least,  the  very  kast,  you  might  have  looked 
for  was  that  he  should  have  remained  faithful.  I  don't 
say,"  she  added,  with  her  gasping  sob,  "that  he  should 
have  toved  me;  but  between  that  and  spending  my 
money  on  other  women  there's  a  difference." 

"My  God,  Arthur,"  Leslie  exdaimed,  on  another  occa- 
sion, "it's  the  money.  If  I  had  two  thousand  dollars  a 
year  of  my  very  own  I  could  swaUow  everything.  I 
could  pay  for  my  dothes  at  least.  But  I  don't  make  that 
since  I  gave  vp  my  woric  at  Cohmjbia,  either  by  my 
lectures  or  my  books— no  one  wants  to  pay  for  political 
ecooomyf— and  so  I  have  to  take  her  checks.  When 
she  gives  me  one  I  feel  as  if  I  was  handling  a  live  snake; 
but  I've  got  to  do  it." 

"You  haven't  got  to  do  it  in  that  way,"  Bainbridge 
endeavored  to  explain.  "Between  a  man  and  his  wife 
there  is,  property  ^)eaking,  no  such  thing  as  money. 
Money  is  only  a  counter.  It  stands  for  snm^hi„g  not 
itself.   When  you've  got  that,  old  boy— " 

"Ah,  but  when  you  haven't?" 

"You  set  to  work  to  acquire  it.    One  can,  you  know. 
Onoe  you've  done  it,  it  won't  matter  whether  the  monev 
XS4 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


!!",?r'«^y  y««  or  lUg^,,  bec««.e  tliat  Moect  ct 

«>ethmgwaih«vBlartit8«jaificMce"     ™"  ■^*"  « 

^t;.  ewy  to  «y  th.t  when  you  don't  k«m  the  IwmiK. 

"H  ywi  want  to  be  free  0*  the  taamlMtJon.  LeaKe  oM 

^yo.o^^j--^:f^^^ 

^  ^  why  L«he  doe«'t  Ko  «to  «pt««^  the 
"{f*r^i!f  i"*o  the  thing  Leslie  ««s  most  about." 

his  sts»r  *'^*  ^* '^'■'^ -- ^- -^ 

I,^ll^T^y-    "S««=rifi»dh««dependence? 

«I,^L"'u^'*?  *°  •*"  *^  »*»  «°».  Maggie.    LesKe 
2^  rL' '^  "* '^  •*'*  ""y  "«  °f ''hat  that 

^He^  never  have  done  it  if  he  hadn't  believed 
^between  you  and  him  the«  is  no  such  ^^ 

^No  such  thing  as  money?    My  dear  man.  how  you    ' 

"Yes,  there  you  are.    But  what  «  money?    Is  it  anv 
^^gmore  than  the  tote,  of  exchangeT^  ^d^' 

tt«e^valent  of  money  the  money  itself  had  nVftX 

«.iiSS'l^^'  ^^'^-lentof  money  is  love. 

"No;  the  equivatet  of  money  is  life,  and  that's  what 


\ 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

L«Ke  has  given  you.  He'i  put  his  life  in  yoor  ti«v1r 
It's  for  you  to  make  of  it  what  you  will." 

"And  how  about  my  life  in  his  hands?" 

"Exartly  the  same  thing.  I'm  not  saying  that  Leslie 
has  done  his  duty  by  you  any  mora  than  that  you've 
done  your  duty  by  him." 

"l  haven't  done  my  duty  by  him?   Weill,  I  like  thatr' 

"You  tkink  you've  done  it  because  you've  given  him 
so  much  a  year.  What  I'm  trying  to  point  out  is  that 
you  can't  interpret  your  relations  to  each  other  in  terms 
of  money;  that  money  has  no  meaning  to  you  and  him- 
that  life  is  all  that  matters  to  either  of  you.  When  yoj 
understand  that  the  spring  of  your  action  towaid  Leslie 
-whatever  he's  been  or  has  not  been  to  you-must  be 
blessing  and  not  retaliation,  you-U  b(^  to  get  hdd  of 

your  duty  1^  the  right  end;  but  you  won't  do  it  before 
that." 

K  there  was  a  result  from  these  exhortations  it  was  not 
immediately  apparent.  >, 

Prom  his  efiforts  to  stop  the  publication  of  paragraphs 
in  which  the  names  of  his  friends  were  mentioned  in 
jocular   familiarity  there  was   no  result   at  aU.      He 
penetrated  on  one  occasion,  to  what  purported  to  be 
an  office,  in  a  sinister-looking  yellow  building,  very  far 
east  in  Twenty-fourth  Street.    Here  a  young  man,  with 
grim,  tight,  snapping  mouth,  and  wary,  resUess  eyes, 
was  tilting  in  a  revolving-chair,  picking  his  teeth,  but 
otherwise  doing  nothing.    Bainbridge  having  stated  his 
errand  without  mentioning  the  names,  the  young  man 
who  kept  his  hat  on  his  head  and  retained  his  position  in 
the  revolving-chair,  replied,  vaguely:  "WeU.  that  wouldn't 
be  in  my  department" 
"Then  in  whose  department  would  it  be?" 
156 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

The  young  man  waved  the  toothpick  eracefuUy     "I 
couldn't  rightly  gay." 
"Would  it  be  poaable  to  find  out'" 
"I  duaW  as  it  would  be."    He  brought  the  chair  to  a 
level  position  and  went  on,  confidentially.    "Say  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do.    Ill  ask  Mi«  Beans.    She's  the  stenog- 
rapher, but  she  ain't  here  to-day.    Leave  your  address 
and  I'll  let  you  know." 

Bainbridge  did  not  leave  his  addms,  but,  twtuming  at 
a  latw  date,  he  found  Miss  Beans.  She  proved  to  be  a 
tared  httle  woman,  of  delicate  features,  and  a  tremor  of 
the  hp  that  portended  tears. 

In  answer  to  Bainbridge's  complaint  she  spoke  prettily 
«id  sympathetically.     "Oh,  dearl   that  would  be  Mr 
Davis's  department,  and  he's  now  in  the  West.    Hell 
regret  it  so." 
"Hasn't  he  left  any  one  to  take  his  place?" 
"Wdl,  no.  he  hasn't.     It's  very  inconvenient  when 
anything  <rf  this  sort  hj^pens.   We  feel  it  w." 
"Couldn't  I  wire  him?" 

"You  might  if  we  knew  where  to  find  him,  but  we 

d«i  t.  •    She  seemed  struck  with  a  bright  after-thought. 

But  111  teU  you  what  I'll  do.    Will  you  not  leavrme 

your  address  and  I'll  write  to  him,  if  I  can  find  out  where 

he  is?    It  will  please  me  so." 

In  the  end  Bainbridge  was  obliged  to  bring  back  a  dis- 
couraged report  to  Mrs.  Gildersleeve.  He  had  noticed 
that  Clorinda  took  his  success  or  his  failure  in  these 
attempts,  of  which  there  had  been  a  good  many,  as  a 
matter  of  personal  importance.  If  her  own  name  had 
been  mvdved  in  the  hints  that  found  their  way  into 
print  she  could  not  have  been  more  intensely  concerned. 
It  was  only  when  he  broached  this  subject  that  he  ever 
IS7 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^rsSt."- '^  ««'--«*- to  b.  • 

o*  people  too  Ion*    -nieH-^j     ^'^  ***'*'»«•  ••* 

"The  odd  S  ^^"?'r*"^*«»»n8«" 
i»f<«n.«on.    TL^ti^^:^  they  get  thdr 
servants."  ^^  ""^  **  »»*  <»ae,  from  the 

"It  cornea  from  an^  ooa"  ri«-;_j 
with  saying.  ^    Oonada  contented  beneif 

•'M  we  could  only  get  at  A«^" 
we  «?;."'"  "^"^  "«" '^  «»««><»  tifle  the  thing;  b«t 

In  the  matter  of  p«-_  m, .    . ^ 

-c^sftU,  dimming  W^elS^i^T'  'T^'  "«* 
who  had  consigns  ^  St^  b^*^_*^*  ^-^^^e 
The  judge  was  a  snuTelSy  ^^"^  "*  <^°rt. 
»«>«  upper  lip  which  lU  fflSe'l™"^*.'^'  '^^^  * 
«»««>t«ted  mov«ent  of  to  J^fT-^-  *^'  '^^^P- 

«^.  he^jght  havX'  £^t  2r^.  «  iittle 

things  to  wSch^  ^^  ^  ""^^^  the«^rfh«e 
training,  and  a  iZZ^  ^  °^  *ttention-^lisdpIine. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


H  cad 


Be  •»  jood  M  to  t«n  niB  how  «.  «_  L. 
wfll  be  .ttoiaed."  *•'*"•*"«*' 

BMnbridje  «nde«vored  to  be  dMT    "ti,. 

Avenue,  between—"  •«»■  u  ir  ._■  ui  ^,^^^,.,c^ 

^*^  rve  me  to  mrfenrtand  th«r  J'.  1  .^ 
benevolent  intention.    Have  the  g«dn«^,    *    r"  "'  ''^ 

2Lts„-;*2^^cen«tirxr.^t^ 

«i'^  SeS;  ^t  tl^::^  re*  l^"""^ 
hesitation,  and  doee  ^^^Jr  »^  '  fortnight's 
«^«t,  tl^lSl^'S^^^L^l^-  «We«ieeve-s 
thewillingness^eWw^f  JT^^  contingent  on 

''^^^^'^^^^^^"'"'"''^'^ 

^'^  tHing,..  ^  the  «^,  L:^^^;^^; 

yea«  a^T       ""'«''«»«»*•  *•  never  heanl  of  thirty 

"Of  course  the  child's  unhamw  ••  ilt.v.  t> 
«hemently.    "Wto^Z^^'    ^^"^  ^'^e  agreed, 

«P«rienceLh«r^Bri£t's^h"Sf'i;  "^  ««*  «« 
it  means  her  salvation  ?    I^^Lll^  "^PI»n«s  when 

altogetheiw. .^^-       ^"  "*  t^"""!™*  of  Pansy 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


mu 


thing  ^...    ^™"^'*'*^*l'o  are  boted  with  ev«y. 

Miss  Downie  never  vidderf    K.,f  >», 
She  was  overcome  hTo^'  *®  '^  overcome. 

«P«m.ent  to  be  tried  on  Pansy  Wfldf  Si^!!^ 
happened  to  be  backed  by  a^-Iv  •  .  *^*'°° 
resulting  in  "wort^^^  ^^  niisunderstanding. 

as  a  revival  of  her  iL^^^  ^  ^°^  "^  ta^en 
institution's  fu^'S^  ^  '^Jf"  'T*  *"  *^ 
stances  made  it  diffiadtfor  ♦hf'K^^^'  *^  ^^'^^- 

Mis.  Wilde.  ^™*  *^  consent  of 

The  difficulty  here  was  to  niake  Pansv's  ™*w        , 
m  a  manner  that  could  he  ,^^a^    ^^^  ^P^ak 

to  Bainbridge  tLT^t  Z^     ^^"^"^^    ^*  '^  Plaia 

o-^  it.    It  was^i'^^'S^S-  '^  f^ 
owmne  it  she  tnnt  +*,»  ,  ™  "lat  m  dis- 

that  ,^e  Lt-;t  tttTLt  ""^  ""^-'  --» 
^'^'  «««'^^^<»ce,  "and  now  I'm  about 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^•^"tJt.    u'*  "*•  "^^  '*'  "yJ*"*-    H  I  hadn't   I 

^•^f    V  w "f^P  ««P«*»Me.  if  there's  any  way^ 
dc««  .t.  whjch  I  da«,  «.y  there  ain't,  and  that's"  aul'vl 

"But  it  iai't  all  you've  got  to  feel.  Mis.  Wflde." 

Thwe  observations  were  made  not  bitterly  or  perversdv 
motherly  woman,  made  for  the  n«.~rf..f  i.  """■s've, 

li^^Z^.K  sunoundings.     In  this  kitchen- 

™  tne  more  terrible  mdications  of  want.     Since  the 
i6i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


<*«Mtwi'g  tappet  had  to  be  tmww.4  *i ...- 

Ba^dg»  w«  pun«ely  making  his  visit  kteln  the 
•ftemoon,  so  as  to  find  her  ooW  «rf,Jr  *!_        . 

she  found  soaoe.    "A  iXt..  *  ,      ^'^*'°°  wherever 

uuuu  space.      A  lady  has  taken  Pansy  ah«adv  and 

see  what's  come  of  it "  «>"aiuy,  ana 

they  have  your  approval."  "«t™i  tnai 

DouWi^  the  smaU  ovals  die  had  cut.  she  placed  them 
^  Z^  '"."Wdng.pan.  making  two  J^^ 
^mcuth  qmvered  «  d«  spoke,  though  she  did^ 
best  to  mamtam  an  air  of  detachment.    «  She  wo«lH„v 

«*e  above  it.     I  ve  got  my  other  children  to  think  of 
i6a 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Md  bring  up  respectable.    Pansy  can  go  where  she  liket 
•nd  do  what  she  likes,  for  aU  1-ior  all  I—" 
Bambridge  saw  two  great  tea«  beginning  to  trickle 

Bomy.     For  all  you  care.    Is  that  it?" 

^  rf  «d  the  fringes  of  dough  into  a  tight  little  ball 
dabhmgrtu^totheflourontheboanl.  "mLa^^s 
M  It  s  full.    You  can't  put  anything  more  into  it^^^ 

And  your  pitcher  was  full  alreadj^full  of  trial  and 
sorrow.    I  understand  that." 

"Paiay  had  no  need  to  add  to  what  I  had  to  bear" 
S  U  t!^  "^f  her  small  cake  flat  and  doubling  'it 
t^f^^^'*M""°^-    "She  didn't  so  much  as  ask  me 
tofoigiveher.   She  just  wouldn't  teU  me  the  man's  name 
««d  ran  away.    I  couldn't  mn  after  her.    Ihadmyothe^ 

^dren  to  take  «re  of.  and  I  didn't  dare  to  l^^W 
a  you  blame  me  for  that—" 

"I'm  not  blaming  you  for  anything.  I'm  only  s^ irimt 
that  now  that  we  have  a  chance  to  make  thini  be^ 
and  «^er  an  round,  it  would  be  well  to  use  rtT  and  we 
can't  do  that  tiU  you  agree." 

VI  don't  see  what  you  want  me  to  agree  for.  I've  eot 
nothmg  to  say  to  it  one  way  or  t'otheTlf  you'dlS 
^  on  account^P^  that  I  have  .  .  .  anTthafSd 
M^  H^  pret^ding  to  be  so  fond  of  her,  and  yet 
^  her  out  mghts  to  tramp  the  dty  with  the  iLd 
faiows  who.  ...  If  I  could  find  out  his  name  I'd  have 
the  law  on  him-a  chfld  of  seventeenr' 

"Isn't  it  possible  that  on  that  point  Pansy  has  been 
v-«ttanwehave?  What  good  w^ it  dTS.ljJtJ 
to  know  who  the  man  B  ?  We  could  only  punish  him  bv^ 
«afang  her  t^ubles  more  public;  and  she^r^  aZ5 
harftmieasitis.  You  know  that,  don't  you?"  ^^ 
163 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

The  mother  tnnwd  iharply  to  the  stove,  lAence  she 

took  a  cup  trf  melted  butter  that  also  held  a  pastry-brnsh. 
By  the  time  she  had  returned  to  the  table  the  proud  lip 
had  stiffened  suffidently  to  enable  her  to  say:  "I  don't 
know  anything  about  it,  and— and  I  don't  want  to  know. 
K  I'm  to  bring  up  my  other  children  respectable  I  must 
nse  above  the  whole  thing." 

"You  can't  rise  above  anything  by  turning  your  back 
on  It  and  refusing  to  know  what  it  is." 

She  was  painting  the  inside  of  her  rolls  with  melted 
butter  as  he  went  on^  pitilessly,  "After  the  baby  was 
bom  poor  little  Pansy  went  to  work  too  soon." 

He  aUowed  this  information  to  sink  in  while  she  cut 
off  another  lump  of  dough  from  the  main  stock  in  the 
big  round  pan. 

"Her  first  job  was  in  a  candy-factory.  She  had  to  give 
it  up  when  they  found  she  had  a  child." 

More  flour  having  been  sprinkled  on  the  boaid 
she  began  again  the  process  of  dabbing  the  new  lumo 
mto  it.  *^ 

"She  was  turned  out  <rf  her  rooming-house,  too,  and 
had  to  move  to  another.  But  here,  when  they  heard  the 
baby  cry,  they  wouldn't  let  her  stay  the  night." 

The  proud,  meek  features  twitched  as  the  lump  was 
rolled  to  a  flat  oval. 

"She  had  to  move  two  or  three  times  after  that, 
but  always  with  the  same  result.  She  could  hide  her 
baby  for  a  day,  and  sometimes  for  a  day  or  two;  but 
they  found  she  had  it,  in  the  end,  and  then  she  had 
to  go." 

"Oh,  stopi"  The  cry  was  that  of  a  great  mother-animal. 
From  sheer  need  of  personal  activity  she  worked  the 
cutter  desperately.    "I'm  her  mother.    I  can't  stand  it 
164 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

rve  been  hard  on  her,  but  I  didn't  know  what  else  to 
do.  .  .  ." 

So  Bainbridge  broke  down  the  cdd,  fierce  pride  that 
passed  for  respectabffity  at  lisbon,  and  the  last  barrier 
but  one  to  Qorinda's  coming  to  the  aid  of  Pansy  was 
taken  by  assault.  There  still  remained  the  last  barrier 
of  all,  which  was  Pansy's  own  consent. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

T-HE  indi-iation  of  Miss  Scattergood's  head  on  a  long 
X  neck  that  broadened  to  its  base  was  exacUy  that  of  a 
giraffe s.  "K  you'U  be  good  enough  to  sit  down  I'U  send 
ner  m  She  added,  over  her  shoulder  as  she  reached  the 
door:  I  thmk  I  ought  to  teU  you  that  she's  impertinent. 
t>ne  s  a  pretty  child,  and  in  some  ways  bidable;  but  she's 
jmpertment."  As  further  infonnation  she  said,  when  she 
had  reached  the  hall,  "We  haven't  told  her  anything  so 
you'll  find  it  all  to  do."  ^^ 

Because  Clorinda  was  frightened  and  nervous  and 
unused  to  Homes  she  said  under  her  breath  as  Miss 
Scattergood  withdrew,  "Oh,  that  woman!"  For  the  same 
reason,  she  murmured,  "Oh,  how  dreadful!"  as  she  looked 
round  the  room. 

Bainbridge  laughed.  "Ifs  only  dreadful  to  a  super- 
sen^tive  taste.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it's  very  dean,  and-" 
Clean  yes.  I've  never  seen  anything  so  clean  in  all 
my  hfe.  Its  dean  to  the  point  at  whidi  your  soul  cries 
out  for  dust.  And  this  odor"-her  ddicate  nostrils 
qmvered-  this  smell  of  disdpline"-^e  gave  a  Uttle 
sniff-  of  disinfectant"-she  sniffed  again-"and  of  good 
wiU-it  s  so  diaracteristic  of  the  methods  of  Christian 
love  imparted  by  machinery  that  I  should  have  recog- 
nized it  even  if  I  didn't  know  where  I  was." 
Bainbridge  loved  the  new  freedom  of  speedi  she  had 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

begun  to  allow  herself  when  akme  with  him.  He  loved 
this  way  of  going  about  with  her,  with  interert*  in  eotmnoo 
like  those  of  Bwi  and  wife.  "You'd  find  «ie  niachinery 
necessary,"  be  laughed  again,  "if  you  had  thirty  way- 
ward gifts  to  take  care  of." 

"But  I  shouldn't  have  tbem.  It  would  never  have 
occurred  to  me  to  try  anything  so  clumsy.  I'd  do  what 
I  could  for  them  individually  or  I  sho«dd  make  no  attempt 
at  aU." 

"I  suppose  it  was  the  no  attempt  at  all  that  our  worthy 
forefathetB  were  afraid  of .  I  can  imagine  that  they  had 
as  much  scorn  of  Christian  tove  imparted  by  machinery 
as  you  and  I— only  they  understood  that  it  must  be  that 
or  none." 

She  continued  her  inspection  of  the  room.  "These  ate 
interesting,  these  old  lithographed  heads.  They  must 
date  from  the  thirties  and  forties."  She  worked  off  some 
of  her  restlessness  by  passins  from  portrait  to  portrait, 
reading  the  names.  "That's  a  Stuyvesant,  the  old  man 
with  the  neckcloth;  this  old  lady  who  looks  like  Queen 
Victoria's  mother  was  a  Rintoul— must  have  been  some 
relation  <rf  mine;  that's  a  Jarrott;  that's  a  Van  Tromp. 
It's  curious  how  the  old  names  persist,  even  in  New  Yoric." 
She  wheeled  round  from  the  walls  toward  the  middle  of 
the  room.  "These  Chippendale  chairs  ate  good.  Must 
have  been  the  wreckage  of  some  fine  old  home— or  pos- 
sibly discarded  and  sent  here  when  the  mania  for  machine- 
made  furniture  took  possession  of  our  fathers  and  mothers 
about  1850.  But  who  could  have  covered  them  with  rep 
of  one  shade  of  crimson  and  set  them  on  a  carpet  of 
another?  Isn't  that  symbdical  of  the  whole  system? 
Excellent  intentions  gone  just  a  little  WHMg.  Ah!" 
The  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  sound  of  tlie 
167 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

^Rpng  of  .bolt.    "She's  conuag."  Bainbridge  wfai.. 

pwri,  the  mule  pMBag  5r  fl,  his  Up.  as  he  wittSrew  to 

the  bad^round  to  Jet  Oonnda  cany  out  her  task  aloo^ 

He  judged  this.best.  for    .,  beginning,  at  any  X 

she  should  shoulder  it  fra  the  first.  He  slipped  intoa 
corn*  therrfore.  barricaded,  as  it  were,  behind  one  of 
the  Chippendale  chairs  which  he  held  by  the  back  Qo- 
rmdastood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  beside  the  marble- 
topped  table.  <m  whi<A  lay  an  immense,  heavily  bound 
Bible,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  empty  doorway  ^^ 

Tb^  could  hear  the  shuffle  of  Pansy's  steps  along  the 
^a7„  k  J^  °°*  """^  ^^^^y  «•  *>"tJiely-  They 
tWK  ,,  J  r"^  ^  ''^'^  *^  •^e*!  »'««lf  along 
that  she  had  no  thought  of  approaching  deliverance. 

When  die  appeared  at  last  in  the  cavernous  dusk  of  the 
UaU.  her  face  was  as  white  as  her  blouse.  An  old  wine- 
odored  skirt  hung  limply  and  dejectedly  about  her  little 
persTO.  A  wme^ored  tie,  faded  and  carelessly  knotted. 
Jl^r^^Jf l!f.'  ^  ^  «^'^*^'  '^^  »  stained^ 
bedraggled  flower  that  has  once  been  in  full  bloom  Her 
hands  hung  heavily  at  her  sides.    la  the  staring  of  her 

*  H^u  T"  ^^^^  '"^  ^^  ^^  °f  some  new  twist  to 
Ae  net  that  had  ^eshed  her.  The  dull  stupefaction  of 
suffering  was  m  the  degree  to  which  her  lips,  lovely  in 
spite  of  their  Woodlessness,  fell  just  a  Httle  open 

Mute  and  questioning  she  stood  on  the  threshold  not 
darmg  to  enter  the  room.  Like  a  spirit  conjured  up  fojm 
uiwnagmable  depths,  she  seemed  to  ask  why  she  had  been 
a^^.    There  was  something  piteously  dignified  in  the 

Baiabridge  had  no  difficulty  in  reading  what  was  pass- 
ing m  Qonnda's  mmd.    Her  stilled  attitude,  her  sudd«. 
i68 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

P^te  hdptesnej,  and  speechl«8n«.  nuute  it  ctair. 

?fwiT.   ^°^u~  ^*^  *°  incamttian  o*  t«gX 

Slt  w^  r^  *^* '^""'^ '«»« *«^^i 

Xi^XT^  n«st  be  caUed.  can£«»ted  eadi 
When  aorinda  found  voice  at  last  it  was  with  st™n™ 
u  you  U  come  and  hve  with  me." 

In  the  wide,  vacant  eyes  there  was  no  sign  of  coniore- 
henaon  or  response.  rampre. 

a<winda  continued  as  best  she  could,     "rm-rm 

^^t„r/"™r-    I.'^^'^-h-ty^u'vebeenthn^g" 
and  i  want— I  want  to  help  you  " 

Oa  the  spirit  caUed  up  from  the  void  of  its  despair  the 
words  made  no  unpression. 

aormda  struggled  on.    "I  don't  beHeve  you're  happy 
h«.   I  know  you're  not  happy.    If  you'Uoome  ^ 


^t'^^J^u  TT"^  <«  Pansy's  part,  but  only  that 
of  shnnkmg  back  mto  the  dimness  of  the  haU 
Bainbndge  ^e  fon^  from  his  retreat  and  whis- 

Put  It  on  the  ground  of  a  new  place,  a  new  job.    That's 
somethmg  she'U  understand." 

a  ^^^  ^**"^''  .^f f"  ^^^  ^  '^^  a^ri^Ja  made 
a  fresh  attempt.  "You  see.  it's  this  way.  Pansy.  Tm 
lookmg  for  some  one  to  .help  my  maid,  and  I'velZght- 
Ive  thought  you  would  do.  It  would  be  a  nice  pki  for 
3^.  and  I  should  see  you  all  the  time.  Mymaidw"! 
169 


I 


I!.'         I 


I 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


•»dto«g,JU»thafc"    She«ck«dl»rb«inte.2rtfl* 

:r  s  rijjir  "^ -«—•-*  too  :Lh* 

to  hw  words;    "Some  one  to  watch  me?" 

Not  to  watch  you.  Pansy— to  take  ca»  of  yoa.    You 
wouldn't  nrind  that,  would  you?    If  I  had  a  dSh  J rf 

your  a«e  I  d,o«ld  want  her  to  be  taken  c»«  2?^sh1 
as  tor  a  child  of  my  own."  ^^ 

^odd  they  know  about  me-ihe  other  pri.  in  your 
"No  one  but  Alphonsine,  as  far  as  I  could  prwent  it. 

^^^They-xe  c^  f.der^  have  e^T 

^  ^^'"•'?iLifT'^  had  teats  in  it  «ther 
««^to^^'       15*^  <^  fi^  out-    Some  one  would  be 
T^Jf^T-    ^«  they'd  look  down  on  meT^ 
But  I  don't  look  down  on  you.  Pansv     Can't  »., 

T^  gid's  rekpse  into  sflence  was  like  the  sinkine  back 
oi^.!^°°^^*.«*o  its  abyss.    ForinSS 


.  ■"■—*  ofuit  into  Its  aoys 

^-•onixla.  too,  was  at  the  end  of  her 


170 


persuasive 


powers. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

ft  wu  not  that  the  had  no  man  to  My,  but,  her  heart 
havwg  been  always  lodced  on  the  tort  o{  thing  the  had 
now  to  utter,  ihe  found  it  difficult  to  opeo  it 

Kvining  this  inability.  Bainbridge  again  stepped  for- 
ward. 'Won't  you  come  in.  Pansy?  M»  Gildenleeve 
wits  to  talk  about  it  seriously.  We  must  look  at  it 
an  Pound-with  its  advantage*  for  yoo.  and  its  disad- 
vantages." 

Pansy  advanced  slowly,  not  so  much  timidly  as  dis- 
trurtfully.  and  not  so  much  distrustfully  as  with  the  con- 
viction that  whatever  premised  good  could  be  nothing 
but  a  tr^.  She  came  straight,  however,  and  without 
hesitation,  tffl  there  was  only  the  marble-topped  table 
between  Qorinda  and  herself.  Her  attitude  was  again 
that  of  the  spirit  mutely  asking  to  know  why  it  has  been 
called. 

The  child's  suggestion  of  being  too  deeply  sunk  into 
miswy  to  be  able  to  rebel  against  it  was  what  finally 
touched  Qorinda  to  the  quick.  Awkwardness  and  the 
Uck  of  habit  vanished  suddenly  &om  her  consciousness 
Her  heart  was  not  predsdy  unldcked;  it  flew  open  of  its 
own  accord. 

"I  know  about  you.  Pansy,  and— don't  you  see?— 
that  s  why  I'm  here  asking  you  to  come  with  me.  It's 
because  you've  done  the  things  you've  done  that  I  want 
you.  That  seems  strange  to  you,  doesn't  it  ?  but  it  wonld- 
n  t  if  you  knew  aH  about  me.  It  doesn't  seem  strange  to 
Mr.  Bainbridge  here;  it  reeUy  isn't  strange  at  alL" 

The  effect  of  these  words  on  Pansy  was  to  mnl^  her 
open  her  eyes  wider,  with  a  look  in  which  inoeduHty 
struggled  with  amazement.  Once  more  Bainbridge 
tiiought  It  wise  to  intervene.  "It  isn't  that  Mra.  Gilder- 
stoeve  thinks  you've  be«i  right.  Pansy,  but  only  that 
171 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1.0    [rKS  m 

^m      ."tB^     12.2 


I.I   i:^  m 


^  APPLIED  IIVHGE    In 

^g*-  '653   EasI    Main   Street 

r*^  J*.?5^rf^'*''>  '^=*  '^°'^         '*609   USA 

■.^B  (716)  482  -  OJOO  -  Phone 

^=  (716)  288-  5989  -  Fox 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


■jj!, 


mi 


she  took  her  name.  ^^  ^°'^^''  ^o™  which 

"And  I  understand  you  "  PlnWr,^- 
«>mething  in  itself.  wTlST^^  ^'^"^-  "^hafs 
but  it  isn't  what  weVe^got  to  th  ntf  """"^^  ''""'^  ^'^ 
Bainbridge  says.  ThZ  teU  ^,  /V"'*  "°^'  ^^  Mr. 
wrong-that  it'puIhS  itte  "  ZT.  '''''I  '°  ^^^^ 
do  is  help  each  other  wien  th.  „^"\^^^*  ^«  have  got  to 
us.  That's  what  I  J.  u  P""'*»ent  has  overtaien 
youVe  done:S  yc^VdrneVat?  ''''  '''  ''— 
hadn't  done  it  you  wo^!,^?,  L  '^''"*  ^'°"-    ^^  y°" 

weren't  in  trouryor^l"^/"  *^°""^'  ^"^  ^^  ^ou 
needs  things  it  cries  andl  -J"^"'  '"'■  ^^  ^  ^aby 
human  he^  ^^V^to^ZtlTr^'^'^'''  ^ 
it  can't  do  for  itself,  ^t's  a  nttf;.  "V^  *''"«^ 
Pansy—"  ^'^^  ^  httle  how  I  feel  now, 

Bainbridge  hastened  to  interoret  "  wi,  *  t,  , 
sleeve  means  is  that  she  h.T^  ,^^*  ^"^^  ^^^der- 
you.  in  which  you'd  have  "\'"^"^"*  ^^  t°  offer 
take  it  we've  a.^„gedlat  ^^  .T'  "  ^"^  ^^n*  *» 
The  judge  has  Td'  you'^^n^J^^!-  ^^  to  do  so. 
your  mother.    But  ,I~^  ^'"'  Downie-^„d 

you'd  rather  stay  hel-^^  ^"  '^'  "^^^^  y^-    K 

t^e72;.S:Z'  'sfeT  °'^^"'^--  ^ot  through 
opening  Lr  cS  sSng Tlf  *°  '^"'^r^"^  ^^^  the 
and  feU.  "^  *°  ^g^>  as  her  bosom  rose 

"If  you'd  rather  stay  here  "  rinW,,^,  u    ,    • 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


a  certain  amount  of  libert™  .f.  "^  '"^'^  ^ 

say-^nd  regular  wages  IX"..""*'  ""  ^°" 
mother   andThe  Mhr^^Z  T  ''°^'^  '^^'P  y°«r 

There  was  nothing  to  precede  or  heraH  P.n.,  ■       u 

only  hoped  it-it  would  die  "  ^ ^~ 

knSslL'fde^rgiri'^rnl^ J^°^^^  '^^"^'^  ^  '^^ 
"ie  giri  wnen  Bainbndge  put  out  his  hand 

173 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


[if 


^2°^Jr-    "^°i  ''*  '''•  ^^  «»"•    She  wants  to  tefl 
«s-toteU  some  one.    It  wiU  ease  her  mind,  and  do  her 

P°«""g  !>«•  confession  mto  the  air.    "I  didn't  do  it 
...  I  wouldn't  have  done  it if  ft  had  lived  T'^ 

I  only  hated  :t.  .  .  .  No,  I  didn't  hate  it.  .  .     ft  was 
l±e  somethmg  I  Wed  and  hated  at  the  same  time 
It  wa3  so  httle  and  .  .  .  and  helpless  .  .     buT!t  had 
eyesldcehisandlknewitwouldhavehiscolo      Sr 
It  was  bom  with  a  lot  of  hair  ...  aU  douny  and  soft" 
■  :  .  It  was  a  httle  boy  .  .  .  its  name  was  Lionel 
I.oneiL«n    1.  .  .  .  I  called  him  Lemuel  after  pop^  "  '  ' 
and  L,onel  because  I  liked  the  name.  .  .  .  I  wSt  caU 
t  h^s  name.  ...  I  didn't  know  what  it  Ts  r 

found  out  it  wasn't  Gussie  ...  he  iust  ri^n,;  \^  I 
n^e  to  fool  me.  ...  I  was  afraid  T.^^l  Z^ 
Wee  hmx  and  so  I  hoped  it  would  die.  .        But  ? 

didn't  faU  rt.  .  .  .  They  said  I  did,  but  I  didn't'  I 

I  d^dnt  know  how I  couldn't  do  anything  to  it 

-th  my  own  hands.  .  .  .  Once  when  it  cried^n  he  mght 
and  g:ve  me  away  in  the  house  where  I  roomed  in  bS 

I  took  hold  of  xt,  ,t  was  so  littl^and  soft-and  hdplS- 
W  couldn't.  ...  He  ^d  if  I'd  doit  he'd-hettry 

fatS""  ^^"''"'^^  questioned,  gently.      "Who?     Its 

iJntu  "^f"^'  ''^P'"«  ^^  ^y^  ^^  and  staring  off 
mto  the  distance.    "He  come  to  see  me  once.  That 

waswheaIwa.mMooneySt,«t.  .  .  .  Iwas there tbS 
i?4 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


days. 


He  said 
where  his 


It  was  the  longest  anywhere.  . 
a  post-card  and  he  come  that  night, 
he  was  going  to  Ught  out  to  the  West  . 
wife  was." 
"So  he  had  a  -^e?" 

She  nodded  again.  "I  didn't  know  that  till— tiU  it 
was  too  late  to  do  any  good.  .  .  .  He  said  we  was  engaged 
fox  'fZ  '^^:<^J^  me  ...  and  give  me  a  set  of 

fox  furs  .  .  .  axid  buy  me  lunches  ...  and  take  me  to 
Coney  .  .  and  everything  like  that  ...  and  then  I 
found  out  he  was  married  ...  and  so  when  he  come 
that  mght,  and  I  told  him  I'd  been  turned  out  of  so  many 
places  when  they  found  out  I  had  the  baby,  he  said-he 

said  we  must-we  must  make  away  with  it He  said 

that  If  Id  kill  :t  I  wouldn't  have  any  trouble  with  it 
aftenvard,  because  he'd  carry  it  off  in  my  suit-case  . 

like  I  brought  it  in But  I  couldn't  kill  it  .  .      and 

then  he  got  mad  and  said  he'd  do  it  himself.  So  he 

took  It  out  of  tne  bed.  .  .  .  it  was  sloping  awful'sound, 
because  a  girl  I  knew  who'd  had  a  baby  of  her  own  had 
give  me  some  drops  to  put  in  its  milk  .  .  .  but  when  I 
saw  him  take  it  up  ...  it  was  an  awful  small  baby 
It  didnt  weigh  no  more  than  five  or  six  pounds  and 

me  not  having  the  proper  food  for  it  ...  and  having  to 
drag  It  about  ...  and  keeping  it  shut  up  in  the  suit-case 
tor  an  hour  and  more  at  a  time  when  I  had  to  move 
I^st  let  out  one  awful  scream  and  snatched  it  away  from 

''You  wouldn't  have  hurt  it,  then,  for  anything?" 
"    No,  sir;  not  when  it  was  right  up  to  me  like  that 
But  he  swore  something  awful  ..  .  and  said  I  was  trying 
to  ruin  him  because  I  was  under  the  right  age  .  .  .  and 
that  I  d  made  hun  throw  up  his  job  at  the  paper  where 
175 


THE    LIFTED   VEIL 


r  ,1 


fiJ 


Miss  Hxggins  used  to  send  me  with  the  things  she  wanted 
to  have  pnnteJm  Chicago.  .  .  .  That's  where  I  mlS 

Miss  HiSs  "^  if :rr '  ^T  --''  ''^  ^•^'i'- 

nifcgins  ...  It  was  always  him  who  took  th«n 
^jn  Twenty-fourth   Street  .  .  .  down  byle  S 

ni2"thf  !r  ''T"^  '°T^  ^'°^"'^=^'  -ho  had  not  recog- 
nized the  signiiicance  of  these  words      "A  hi.,  ^Iii 

wa.sn%h;f  ■    ,  '^^®  "^  °"^  hypnotized.     "Kilrov 

Lsl  KIrr'  •  •■  •  "°  "°"  ^''^'^  "  --  G-Z 
v^ssie  Kilroy  was  just  a  name  he  give  me  T 

don  t  know  what  his  real  nan.e  was  Tnd  Th.r.  '  h 

I  wouldn't  tell  momma  \iZ,'  '  '  "^at  s  why 

cu  iiiomma.  .  .  .  Momma  was  awful  mad 
•  .  •  but  what  was  the  use-//,^„?  Mr^^r^     u 

t.k.  my  ™iid„.  .        I  S^lTfi  ■■',7"»''  "> 

t-j,^  i,„u     T        , .        ■  ■  ^  ioiew  tnat  if  I  could  ppt  rwl  nf 
the  baby  I  could  go  reg'lar  bad,  like  Mary  Swet 
a  girl  I  used  to  go  to  school  with.  .  .  .  ThTy  leTw,;;. 
m  IVWy  Street,  though  they  knew  wJat  she  It  ^ 
but  tjey  wouldn^keep  me  because  I  had  little  Lionel' 

T;ke  sl^t'  wh       ^  """'  •  •  -ncl  so  I  had  to  go  to 
like  btreet,  where  it  was  something  fierce  «J\vl 

fuler  and  tretfuler  anrl  T  „™»  *     •  ^ 

about  home3  whe.^  I  o^old  '      il      ^"'  '°  '"'  °"' 
who'd  take  it  to  nur^  T!  "  '  '  '  °^  ^^"^^  ^"nan 

thing  .  .  .  anriTa.'afJTr^'-'irr^- 

.etting  too  big  for  the  suit-c^.lhoth' it  kept'so'aJ^ 

i;6 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

smaU  .  .  and  aU  I  could  do  was  to  bury  it  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  bed  when  I  went  to  work.  .  .  I  got  back 
to  It  every  minute  I  could  ...  and  so  long  as  I  had  the 
drops  It  didn't  hardly  stir  ...  it  seemed  to  get  to  de- 

pend  on  them  like But  tliat  day  I  couldn't  get  away 

at  the  lunch-hour  ...  a  lot  of  extra  work  had  come  in 
to  the  laundry  ...  and  old  Stcptoe  what  run  it  said 
that  any  girl  that  went  out  to  lunch  could  stay  out  to 
lunch  ...  and  I'd  had  such  an  a^^'ful  job  to  find  a  job 
after  they  bounced  me  from  the  candy-factory  .  and 
so  everything  was  against  me  ...  and  when  I  got 
back  to  my  room  and  turned  down  the  bedclothes  I 
just  let  out  one  awful  holler  ...  and  I  didn't  know 
anything  more  tiU  I  woke  up  and  found  I  was— in— 
m  jail." 

The  recital  ended,  her  head  dropped  on  her  arms  and 
she  cned  softly.  There  was  no  passion  in  her  grief- 
nothing  but  the  gentle  weeping  of  a  heart  relieved  of  part 
of  Its  load.  Clorinda  passed  round  the  table  and  laid  a 
hand  on  the  quietly  heaving  shoulder. 

"I  shaU  rome  for  you  to-morrow  morning,  Pansy  dear 
You'U  be  packed  and  ready  by  eleven,  won't  you '  That's 
imderstood." 

But  Pansy  quivered  at  the  touch.  "  Don't  have  noth- 
mg  to  do  with  me,"  she  sobbed.  "I'm  better  here  It's 
all  I'm  fit  for.  I  did  kill  it-in  my  feelings-^ometimes. 
I  dare  say  I'd  have  come  to  it,  if  I  got  desperate— and  I 
was  pretty  near  desperate,  anyways."  She  raised  her 
head  to  add:  "When  I  turned  down  the  clothes  the  poor 
little  thing  had  wriggled  itself  over  on  its  back,  trying  to 
get  its  breath  like.  It  didn't  die  from  nothing  but  want 
of  breath-that  and  not  being  rightly  fed.  Its  eyes  was 
wide  open,  and  it  seemed  to  be  saying:  'Oh,  what  did 
177 


mi 


f 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

you  go  away  and  leave  me  for?'    I  ^.  „  ^ 

^-t  as  plain  ,3  .  the  HtUe  lip^  Js^.e'Te^Jr  -»* 

airS'^enS'  ^Tj^  ^^'^^  "P  Seventh  Avenue 

and  the  only  w^JlreTr^.^  tf'"^  "'  ™- 
having  the  windows  of  the  H-T™    ■  ^^  necessity  of 

=  S"^:-r^-^eXn^. 

-ir;;:^^rts^-^.— the^ 
-tr ,s^£a^r^.i;^:^-/jwhtful„..  .-t^ 

"That's  p:.,bai>ly  heLTl^r  ',!^'"^'  ^*  ^''^  P°°r- 
^^  -  for  the  overtaxS"^"^^"^^-^^  ^'""^  what 
reswu-ces.    You've  alwarp^tTT  '''  *^  ^"'^  "^  >*« 

upon-resources  of  mS  oTin.T  '^^^''^  '"  ^^>  ^^ck 
vast  upholding  civiTatWill         ^^'?'''  °^  «^"<1^'  ^f  a 

conceive  of  yoLd7^^StiSv'rr.'"°"-  ^°"  -"'' 
to  turn  or  what  to  dZ^h^/  T    T™«  ^'^''^^  way 

«  you  for  their  suLrtinr.^      J  '.'''^^"  ''^"''«'t 
morrow  moving.    T^L  "ret ,  ""^  *«^  b«akfast  to- 
with  literaUy  no  ma  ^^^1  w.      "'  ,°   ^'^^  P°°^  ^^^ing 
but  of  affection  and  tToughrEvTmh  '"^  ^^  '"""^^ 
the  wants  of  eveiy  day    Anrf  J:^?^'"^  '    used  up  for 
fortune,  such  as  thit  Jl  V  ^^"^  ^"  ^^t-°nal  mis- 
-«es  on  them,  they  cal^ltT''  *°  ^^^  ^-^y. 
the  exhausted  Alpine  fevS  tl  V^^'    '^'^^''^  J^^e 
falling  and  can't  ^^ToS"    fT/'^  ^^^-*« 
you  see  Pansy's  mother  vo„ 'n  «  !1f        °^  '*'  "^^y-    When 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


They're  not  caUous;  they've 


to  meet  an  extra  demand 
only  given  aU  they  had  " 

I'And  we  don't  lift  a  finger  to  help  them." 
.      Some  don't;   others  again  R„7^;. 

ject,  one  through  which  we  dcm't 'sS  Jr  If  ""^^  '"'^ 
Our  attempts  are  too  off,^  °°"  "^  see  our  way  as  yet. 
surface,  when  weneS^to^^T/  "''""  '^'"'^°«  <«  '''e 
we're  afraid  to  LTthe  H    f^"  *"  '^^  ^^'^'-    ^hile 
world  is  afza,?of  itXl  Jh"    '~^*'  '""^  Philanthropic 
I'm  coming  to  W  e^TXr^v/T'^'^^'^'^^^-y- 
the  evil;  that  S^mT^    T^'°^^  "^y  ^^^^'^te^ 
between  capital  and  2i^'r''  t""^  ««Prom:ses 
on  old  ganient.  ^^t^^.T'  *''n  "'"  P^'^^ 
°ur  civilisation  is  M^ing  to^iant,  °"'.  =°  '°"e  - 
nght  end-"    He  broke  off  to^   '?"  ^  ^"^  ^y  th. 
think  of  changing  your  mi^J,"°  "^^      ^^  y°"  d°n't 

duS'  'SuSTwhaSh'"-^"  ^'"^^  ^-^-^h  the 

I?  it'swhatTihoLdhttferi^ti:^^  "^^^-^-^ 

in  her  place.    I  seetn-I  LZ, '.    u  ^^  *^P*^  'o  do, 

aU-to'Lve  hLTact'uSrhJpX'^  '^T  '* 
feconds  went  by  before  she  US.*°p°'"-;  ^  ^^'^ 
by  othere  is  bad  enough-  i^TZT^:,  ^^^^^^^tion 
most  frightful  thing  S'  nl  !f -^^^d^r^tion  is  the 
no  loophole  by  which  vou  ll  T"^  '"*''  ^^^^  ^''^^'s 
because  poor  ItZZZ^r^Z^  ^''-  ^"""l  ^"^  '*•  I*'^ 
like  my  own-''  ^    ^""^'^  '^  ^*  '^tt'*'  so  much 

ffis  brows  went  up.    "So  much  like  yom^." 

-Ssrhrr^--j,---oney 

-iupherw^ps.    "T^^SS^^y-Ja^etnC 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"  I've— T'™  ^^^    u  ^  *°  ^y  °^er  her  shoulder- 

Chn:;;L  Ev"- ^  about-about  what  you  asked  me  ^n 

worst  out  of  which  he  must  know  how  to  make  the  best 

sp£^^pL7whtri^^^^^^^^ 

change   of  friendly   :^arks  with    nLZ^h    a   sit 
y^g  Englishman,  of  the  indoor  servaT^t  tith^ 

thTt^k  7  "  '"-"^  ludicrously  out  of  ke^^rv^th 
the  task  of  arranging  teacups  and  passing  nL;,  Xf 
was  perhaps  to  put  off  the  temfic  mcTlit-ihS 
of  m  or  disappointment-as  long  as  possible  ZX 
I  So 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

took  his  time  in  crossing  the  frien'^lv  hall,  and  look 
ing  round  on  it  as  one  who  might  be  .eeing  it  for  the 
^f  liTr     "\"°^'^d  the  shaded  lamp,  a  soft  blur  of 
colored  hght,  burning  in  the  empty  libraiy,   the  dark 
openmg  to  the  dining-room,  the  bit  of  blue-green  fapestn^ 
the  portrau  that  might  have  been  a  Gainslx^rough      At 
the  fct  tummg  of  the  stain:  he  glanced  lovingly  at  the 
cucumber  green  of  the  celadon  jar  on  its  caned  black 
stand,  not  because  he  felt  the  mysterious  appeal  that 
«nanates  from  old  Chinese  art,  but  i^ause  the  beautiiu 
thmg  nad  so  often  seen  him  go  up  or  down  in  ?  .pe  or 
happmess^   All  the  uncertainty  of  the  prisoner  coming  in 
to  hear  che  hfe-or-death  verdict  of  the  Jury  was  in  his 
^tsteps^«  his  heart,  as  he  cominued  his  way  ufwarf 
Of  one  thtng  only  was  he  sure:   Whatever  the  fate,  he 
was  mwardly  prepared  for  it. 

He  h^  passed  the  turning  of  the  stairs  when  he  fancied 
he  heard  a  man's  voice  from  the  drawing-room  above. 
Ha^ng  gone  up  a  stqp  or  two  farther,  he  paused  and  made 
hmaself  sure  of  ,t.  The  stairs  had  a  second  tuming-not 
^acious  and  at  right  angles  to  itself  like  that  which 
made  room  for  the  celadon  jar.  but  a  mere  arc  of  a 
cm:le  v^hence  the  upper  haU  and  a  portion  of  the 
dmwmg-room  were  visible.  Clorinda  was  in  the  ix,r- 
!r^  the  drawing-room  which  was  not  visible;  but 
standing  before  the  fire,  with  a  "land  on  the  Uite 
marble  of  the  mantelpiece,  and  directly  within  3ain! 
bridges  range  of  sight,  was  a  man. 

.pen  Jr  ^  "^."  ^^"^  Bainbridge  knew  instantly  he  had 
seen  before  arid  yet  was  for  the  moment  unable  to  place. 
He  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldeied  man.  with  a  handsome, 
rather  sensuous  face,  on  which  the  mustache  and  im- 
i8i 


■>'i 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

pern!  were  very  slightly  touched  with  gmy.    As  Bain- 

bndge  lagged  on  the  stain,  his  irmnediate^Lght  wm" 

Wher.  have  I  seen  him?    What  connection  hfve  I  v^' 

™k-  Tr'n"""^""'  »mething  dramatic  aTd 
romantw.  The  idea  was  no  sooner  in  his  mind  than  the 
name  came  staggering,  as  it  were,  to  his  lips-  "ifs- 
it's  Malcohn  Grant."  ^ 

Of  the  clarity  of  Bainbridge's  vision  dimne  the  few 
seconds  ,t  took  him  to  mount  the  remainrg  stjs  a^d 

twih.  ^V    "^"^  '*  °^^  ^"^^"1  't  came  to  him 
that  the  difference  wrought  in  his  consciousness  was  a^ 

"^whrth";'"*  "f '^  ^'  °^"  darkness  an" 
cha<K  when  the  dmne  "Ut  there  be  light."  was  com- 
nianded.  It  w^  iUuminating-it  was  complete.  It^ 
complete-,t  was  in  order.  Nothing  was  wanting-  noT 
^g  was  obscure.  It  was  as  obvious  as  the  visuaUy  pai^o- 
ramie  or  as  Unes  in  print.  ^  ^ 

m^TiT"^!^  ^^^  """"^  ''°^"  ^1^°  h^  «»"e  to  him 
Tl  ^^^  '^^  ^"^"  previously.  She  had  had  a  W 
She  had  described  herself  as  a  sinner  "™  »  lover. 

det^^"^  ^r'"?  "f  r "^"^  *°  "^  f>^'-  ^"d  had  been 
or  h^  by  God  only  knew  what  misgivings  on  his  part 

her^lorinlTL''  f""  "'•  Bainbridge.  had  known 
fZ  ?!        u        G'^'l^^^ve  she  had  tried  to  reveal  her 

«Sed"i:^  ""  ""'"  ^'^^  ^P^^^-^  t*-*  ^e  J^-i 

The  fart  that  she  had  this  impression  explained  a  hun- 

him,  but  which  were  as  clear  to  him  now  as  chaos  was  dear 
when  light  flashed  upon  it.  ^^ 

l83 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

bitr Lr£  ttr "^  •'-o  ^  Hi.  Had 

Ven.weU.tHen;  He  must  know.    He  had  no  doubt  now 

OS  to  what  a,nst.tuted  the  Highest  Possible,    ^e  mu"T 

never  leam    rom  a  hint  that  should  ascape  hin,    oTso 

^1"Z  fi^^  ^  '"^  '^''  ^'  '^  ^^-t  -d^W 

thr^T'ri  TT  *?  *^''  <»"sciousness  before  reaching  the 
teshold  of  the  dmwing-nxmi,  he  was  able  to  cZlt  L 
^e  who  faces  no  more  than  the  commonplace.  ^riLX 
was  st,l  stanchng,  a  l.ttle  da^e.!,  perhaps,  but  w,°h  no 
outward  trace  of  cmbamxssment.  Without  b  a  i  or 
affectat,on   of   self^x^ntrol  she  was  sufficiently     TstrZ 

^eiTatrnTbeTr-^  '''  ^^  ^'  ^^  "-  -  - 

"You  know  Sir  Malcolm  Grant,"  Bainbridee  hear,!  h^ 

-ying,  as  he  entered  the  „«m.     It  reached  hLT^t 

If  from  a  long  way  off.  that  she  added:    "He^  p^'in^ 

clZf  ^'"  •''°^'  °"  ^'^  ^^y  ^°  buy  hoVses  ITZ 
Canadian  contmgent  to  the  British  anny,  and  Has  been 
good  enough  to  wait  to  see  me." 


CHAPTER  xm 

TT  was  plain  to  Bainbridge  that  Sir  Malcohn  Grant's 
1  astomshment  at  this  unexpected  meeting  was  not  less 
violent  than  hts  own.  During  an  instant  for  which  no 
polite  conventions  or  instincts  of  courtesy  could  possibly 
have  been  suffidetit,  the  baronet's  handsome,  rather  ex- 
pre&^onless  face  went  blank.  He  offered  his  hand  me- 
chanically as  Bainbiidge  extended  his. 
"  I— I  took  the  Hberty  cf  waiting  for  Mre.  Gildersleeve  " 

he  stammered,  as  though  an  apology  had  been  demanded, 
when  they  told  me  she  was  expected  home  to  tea  " 
Quite  so,"  Bainbridge  assented,  aloud.    To  himself  he 

was  saying:  "If  Clorinda  marries  me  he'll  think  that  I've 

been  a  traitor." 

And  yet  the  Canadian's  words  gave  him  the  keynote 

he  v^  mentally  in  search  of.    The  meeting  was  to  be  on 

the  basis  of  the  sunple  sociabilities.    There  were  to  be  no 

explanations,  nor  any  impUcations  that  each  of  the  three 

held  a  world  of  thoughts  in  reserve.   Bainbridge  was  able 

therefore,  to  go  on  with  a  series  of  obvious  remarks,  to 

ask  the  baronet  how  long  he  had  been  in  New  York  and 

to  learn  the  name  of  his  hotel.    In  a  voice  that  spemed  as 

u  'I  ""? ^  ^^"^  ^"^  transmitted  from  another  sphere' 
ne  heard  Clormda  say: 

"How  hot  it  is  here!    They'll  bring  tea  in  a  minute. 
Why  don't  we  all  sit  down?"  ""I'ute. 

184 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


kept  his  eyeT^S„tht^."«*^-thy.  *-,  that  each 

expression.  ^       "^^  °°  P'^t^'^  °f  being  an 

;;  You've  come  straight  from  Montreal?" 

Val^,er     Isn't  that  a  training-camp  v 
•Tne  Canadian  deserifwi  tu^     s  "^ip. 

which  s^^:s,t^d?his'S.r'?  ^'""  °° 

paring  to  take  o^  iri^Z       ,   «»>Patnots  were  pre- 
He  dfd  so  SpEuv  S,    "Jf '"  ~""^'"S  ^''^  '^°ri'l- 

soon  as  navigation  otv.„<.     „  '"  "™  sail  from  Quebec  as 

Quebec  and  Eo^^  JT,  "^"^^  «  aU  parts  o£ 

They've  their  o^^i  the  mantmie  provinces,  too. 

'■Snll!i,T.w  ^'^^ng-'^amp  in  New  Brunswick-" 

Splendid  that  you're  able  to  work  like^^V"  n  • 

to  make  it  worth  while  to^ah^     u^^  ^  "^  *°°  "^^ 


^. 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

rv«been  able  to  contribute  is  cash-till  lately  they  dis- 
«^  that  I  know  a  thing  or  two  about  hLes  Ts 
a  bit  rough  to  feel  yourself  a  slacker  when  half  the  fcflow^ 
y(«know  are  shedding  their  blood;  but  it  seems  thVS 

h  t^  end  Bainbridge  found  it  possible  to  follow  such 
i«iarfa  as  these  with  one  side  of  his  mind  while  with  the 
oth^  he  confronted  the  seething  mass  of  facts  irwwi 
h,s  destmy  tod  become  involved.  As  far  as  he  taew  ht 
State  of  mmd  he  felt  like  a  man  who  has  been  gallanUy 
and  3oy«,sly  sailmg  over  an  exhilarating  sea  Ld  svZ 
S'w^tf^^"'^"^^-,  H--^'='-''tofcSiil'. 
oZ^l  ""^^y  °^  '^^"S  calm,  of  betraying  no 

ovenvhehmng  sense  of  danger,  of  living  that  pSar 
minute  as  a  man  should  Uve  it.  no  matter  wh^was  to 
iT!,'"^^"'^-  ^« '"^t^  to  ^ve  the  women  and 
2i^'  r^^  ^l"^  '"'^"'^  ""^^  °*erwise  quite 
unheroic  find  within  themselves,  enabled  him  to  talk 

t'^'^  T^  T"^"^  '^*'  "^«  Clorinda  had  leiS. 
toteke  off  her  gloves  and  lay  them  out  neatly  on  the  table 

Sir'  Tr  ^  "^  ^**  P"^  •*  ^'^  ^^  8l°ves,  aiid 
otherwise  get  her  bearings. 

tn^l  \^^^  V^  nian-instinct  Malcohn  Grant  kept 
L  l!  °^'.  '^^'  had  been  started  as  the  least  personal 
one  he  could  choose.  It  had  the  advantage  that  to^th 
Bambndge  and  Qorinda  it  was  new  an^fo  some  de^ 

To  the  d«-gyman's  spiritual  insight,  too,  the  Canadian 
was  the  fii^t  instance  of  that  mimcle  of  which  he  was 
already  heanng  tales-the  man  transfonned,  and  in  some 

IT"  T ^'i*  ^y  ^'^^  *°  °"*  °^  *e  great  causes 

emph^zed  by  the  war.    As  he  sat  silent,  oT^g  no 

more  than  the  questions  that  would  spiir  the  other  man 

i86 


on  to  talk,  his  i 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


now  I 


'■  surface 


BcoUectionsofthesceneiflhi 
wo  years  ago.  struggled  up  t< 

t'ws  "4r::uritrs^s'7  ^'^°"  '^^  ^'^' 

■the  tmces  of  the  dub^;  1  ^^^<^'  fleshly  face, 
business.  Thel^  L  b^T^^'  ^  *e  place  of 
more.  He  trdghtZvTh^  ■  ^^  *°'^'  ^<^  ''«'« 
suffered  a  care  Lv^  hat  vJ^  *  "'^'  ""^"^  ^^""^ 
the  counten^  th  JL         ^^**^  *  reflection.    If  in 

and^Stic  ft^r'^"^"^*='^"'A°8'^Sa,o^" 
wasonheSitr^^r"?^*''^^-  I* 
«om,w  we  die,  nSt  hav^  T  ""^  '""^'  ^°^  *°- 
and  its  future  ^!pl  ^^^  ^  '*^  """'^  at  the  time 

and  the  eyes  more  tWhtS  Tl^  "^"^^'^^y  S^ver. 
upward  in  the  scale  Tb^'  ^^"^  ^,  '"^^^^  ^^ep 
being  bom  where  the^  S^  been  JT  "M  ^  '°^  ^^ 
hen,  was  making  hii^f  „,  v  .  .^  a  body;  as  if  the 
nothing  bu^rZn^'nlS  ttt  *'"^  ''"'  ^ 
than  in  deed,  one  got  in^  a  ZS  InZ  "^  ^^*^- 
be-recorded  heix>isms  which   woSTI^  "^''^-*°- 

epoch  memorable,  andSZlI^LTZ-"^^  '^ 
sheer  force  of  nat  onaStv  «^  Canadian,  by  the 

sense  a  partidST^*^  """^  cooperation,  was  in  some 

the'^tLX^lLr tray'^rt  ^^""^^  *'-^''* 
Clorinda  orfered,ld^S^„  tSUle^'."^"""^''' 
^^"^■•^"^^^^-"-yc'^-  "Sir 

st-nger  or  the^^rh^Sy^  t^^  f  ^^^ 
wh^d.  hints  that  we.  reaHy  S.,'l:^'^::l 


ii 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

meaning.  There  were  so  many  things  lor  him  to  think 
of  that,  for  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  it  was  only  through 
trifles  that  his  mind  could  work.  When  Grant  stepped 
forward  to  take  his  cap  Bainbridge  watched  to  see  whether 
he  and  Clorinda  would  exchange  glances  or  allow  their 
hands  to  touch.  When  they  did  neither  he  reminded 
himself  that  Grant  had  only  wanted  to  many  her; 
it  was  not  he  who  had  been  her  lover.  "My  God!  she's 
been  a  man's  mistress!"  He  was  obliged  to  repeat 
the  words,  and  repeat  them  again,  in  order  to  assimilate 
the  fact. 

She  had  been  a  man's  mistress— and  he  was  supposed 
to  have  known  it  itbta  he  asked  ha  to  be  his  wife!  She 
had  been  a  man's  mistress— and  he  whose  life  was  devoted 
to  the  sanctities  was  in  love  with  her! 

Whose  mistress  had  she  been? 

The  question  surged  up  slowly  oat  of  the  heaving  chaos 
of  his  spirit,  only  to  recede  and  go  down  again.  It  re- 
ceded and  went  down  because  Qorinda  said,  "Mr.  Bain- 
bridge, I  think  >'ou  like  it  weak,  with  cream  and  no 

SUgii-." 

She  made  the  statement  looking  at  him — looking 
at  him  confidently— looking  at  him  significantly,  and 
with  the  faintest,  yet  most  eloquent,  glimmer  of  a 
smile. 

He  forced  himself  to  return  the  smile  and"  decline  the 
tea,  while  it  came  bade  to  him  that  the  veiled  woman  had 
said:  "There  was  a  man!  ...  if  he  had  only  insisted 
more  ..."  And  again:  "What  really  happened  was 
with  some  one  else."  How  many  men  had  there  tjeen, 
and  how  far  down  did  his  own  name  come  on  the  list  ? 

He  „ould  not  have  said  that  as  yet  he  was  suffering 
acutely.  He  was  too  bewildered  for  active  suffering,  too 
i88 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

confused.  The  thing  that  was  to  make  him  suffer  was 
too  monstrous.  To  connect  it  with  the  high-bred 
woman,  whose  thin,  graceful  hands  were  moving  so 
defUy  among  the  objects  of  silver  and  porcelain,  was 
too  great  a  strain  on  the  faculties.  It  was  absurd 
mcrcdible,  and  yet  ...  ' 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  as  Grant  seated  himself  near 
her.  that  we  must  seem  very  idle  and  callous  to  workers 
like  you.'' 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  replied,  readily.  "We'i«  very 
nmch  touched  by  your  sympathy  and  all  your  help  " 

"It's  true,"  she  said,  pensively,  "that  one's  friends- 
troubles  are  not  one's  own  trouoles,  however  keenly  one 
may  sympathize.  To  those  engaged  in  the  fight  that  fact 
must  give  this  whole  country  an  air  of  aloofness,  but  I 
assure  you  some  of  us  are  very  deeply  moved." 

It  was  the  inevitable  subject,  and  as  Bainbridge  lis- 
tened he  was  thankful  that  it  should  be  so  absorbing  No 
private  drama  could  be  thrilling  enough  to  blunt  the 
appeal  which  all  mankind  seemed  to  be  putting  forth 
sunultaneously,  so  that  there  was  neither  affectation  nor 
self-compulsion  in  the  ease  with  which  Clorinda  and  her 
guest  were  able  to  dismiss  other  concerns  and  give  them- 
selves u'  to  the  topic. 

Outwardly  Bainbridge  found  her  little  short  of  marvel- 
ous. Except  for  the  first  few  minutes  of  seeming  dazed 
at  finding  her  unexpected  visitor,  she  had  remained 
mistress  of  herself.  She  had  neither  blanched  nor  be- 
trayed undue  self-oonsdoHsness.  Only  a  woman  with 
some  exceptional  blend  of  courage  in  the  character  could 
have  so  borne  herself  in  the  face  of  the  actuaUties  As 
far  as  the  eye  could  judge,  she  was  as  cahn,  as  simple,  as 
If  Malcolm  Grant  had  never  impressed  her  imagination. 
189 


i 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

as  if  there  had  never  been  on  his  part  some  htuniliating 
night,  or  on  heis  some  strange  refusal.    Was  it  his  flight 
or  her  refusal  that  had  brought  matters  between  them 
to  an  end,  after  the  interview  between  Grant  and  himself 
m  the  study  in  West  Forty-eighth  Street,  two  yeare 
™^-;    I"»^  been  the  one  or  the  other-but  which? 
While  he  tried  to  postpone  aU  such  speculation  to  a 
minute  when  he  could  give  himself  up  t6  it  without 
restraint,  it  torced  itself,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  keep  it 
back.    Who  was  she?    What  was  she?    What  extraordi- 
nary episodes  had  she  passed  through  in  that  life  of  hers 
that  seemed  outwardly  so  placid  and  yet  so  violently 
disturbed  within?    How  w,  s  he  to  subdue  this  flaming 
thmg  to  his  own  patient  round  of  well-doing  as  a  clergy- 
nian?    Was  it  possible  to  think  of  her  as  going  regularly 
to  church  and  being  a  gentle,  comforting  hostess  to  duU 
parishioners?     Raging  fire  she  had  called  herself      "I 
feel  as  if  my  love  would  scorch  you— would  bum  you  up  " 
she  had  said  on  Christmas  Eve.    Well,  would  it?    Could 
It?    Was  there  something  baleful  in  her  against  which  his 
^intual  defenses  wouldn't  be  able  to  hold  out?    Or  was 
there  a  way,  a  way  he  didn  t  .se  as  yet,  by  which  the 
Highest  Possible  might  still  be  reached,  and  be  reached 
through  her,  in  spite  of  everything?    He  had  said  to  him- 
self,  on  entenng  the  house,  that  whatever  the  fate  in  store 
for  hun  he  was  prepared  for  it;  but  had  he  been  prepared 
for  this? 

Oddly  enough,  it  was  preparation  of  which  they  were 
speaking  at  the  tea-table  as  their  words  floated  over  to 
mm  in  his  place  by  the  fire. 

'•Rum  go,"  Grant  was  saying,  as  he  munched  a  slice 
of  buttered  toast,  "my  being  off  to  Kentucky  like  this 
Sort  of  thing  I  never  expected." 
190 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

Clorinda  responded  sympathetically.  "But  you  must 
be  very  glad  to  be  doing  it.  At  a  time  like  the  present 
anythin  ,  by  which  one  can  be  useful  is  a  positive  boon 
to  oneself."  She  added,  thoughtfully:  "And  as  far  as 
that  goes,  isn't  all  of  life  a  rum  go?  I  can't  think  of  any- 
thing that  will  upset  calculation,  and  defy  it,  so  skilfully 
as  the  march  of  events." 

"Thing  is,"  the  baronet  stated,  as  though  he  were 
distilling  an  original  bit  of  wisdom,  "to  be  prepared 
for  the  unexpected,  which  is  what  I'm  afraid  good  old 
England — " 

"Yes,  but  what  is  being  prepared? — ^for  ansrthing? — " 
"Well,  in  England's  case—" 

"Oh,  I  know  what  it  would  have  been  in  England's 
case — guns  and  shells  and  shoes  and  that  sort  of  th'ng. 
But  I'm  thinking  of  ourselves.  One  gets  so  outmanoeu- 
vered  by  life,  so  to  speak,  so  taken  by  surprise.  It's  as  if 
we  were  the  prey  of  some  grim  and  sportive  power  that 
had  nothing  better  to  do  than  play  tricks  on  us." 

Sir  Malcohn  seemed  to  ponder  the  possible  bearing  of 
this  speech  on  the  present  curious  meeting.  "Of  course 
one  year  is  different  from  another,"  he  conceded. 

"Oh,  but  it's  the  ways  in  which  it's  different!  If  one 
could  only  guess  beforehand,  or  be  ready.  You  can't 
even  reckon  or  forecast  with  any  likelihood  of  being 
right." 

That  Grant  was  searching  for  hidden  meanings  Bain- 
bridge  was  sure  from  the  way  in  which  he  looked  at  her. 
"Isn't  it  a  matter  of  reaping  what  one  sows?" 

"No,  because  one  doesn't  reap  it — not  as  far  as  I  can 
see.    One  sows  an  acorn,  let  us  say,  and  one  reaps  the 
deadly  nightshade." 
"  Why  not  say  a  rose?" 

XSJI 


WW 


gpfP 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Bainbridge  saw  her  look  toward  himself,  with  eye* 
cunously  shining.  "WeU,  I'm  willing  to  say  a  lose-^on 
certain  occasions.  My  point  is  only  that  you  never 
can  tell.  Whether  it's  a  rose  or  the  deadly  night- 
shade. It's  equaUy  surprising  when  you're  lookine  for 
an  oak." 

"And  would  you  rather  have  the  oak.'" 

"One  would  rather  have  what  one  is  prepared  for 
wouldn't  one?  One  doesn't  always  want  to  be  hurled 
about,  from  one  astonishing  situation  into  another—" 

It  was  Grant  who  threw  the  personal  note  into  this. 

I  hope  you  don't  mean  my  coming  and  waiting  for  you 
this  afternoon.    It  was  a  bit  cheeky  on  my  part—" 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  she  tried  to  answer  lightly.  "I'm  so 
glad  you  did." 

"  You  see,  I've  only  this  one  day— just  now." 

"Does  that  mean  that  you'ri  be  coming  back?" 

"Not  exacUy  coming  back;  but  they  may  send  me 
here  as  a  sort  of  agent  to  the  Canadian  government— 
for  buying  suppHes.  New  Yoric's  the  most  central  point 
for  that,  and  they've  asked  me  how  I  should  like  the  job. 
I  told  them  to  move  me  about  as  if  I  was  an  inanimate 
object."  A  new  flash  came  into  his  eye  as  he  added 
quietly:  "All  I  am  and  aU  I  have  is  at  the  country's 
disposal." 

The  flash  was  answered  like  a  signal  by  one  6om  her. 
Bamb.idge  knew  how  this  sort  of  engagement  in  a  great 
adventure  would  appeal  to  her.  "Of  course,"  she  re- 
sponded, warmly.  "It  would  be-but  it's  splendid,  isn't 
It?  It's  like  taking  part  in  a  great  sport,  which  is  more 
than  a  sport  because  it's  vital.  If  this  country  went  to 
war  It  might  revive  some  of  our  old-time  patriotism  I 
should  like  to  hear  a  Uttle  of  that  now,  after  so  many 
193 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

years  of  iKuiag  am  own  people  oandemaini 


-  r- .- ~-_JK  our  own 

country.  And  ret,"  she  reflected,  "it  comes  back  to  the 
personal,  doesn't  it?  Life  is  so  amazing.  It  sends  its 
soiTOvre-and  its  joys-inm  quarters  whence  one  so  little 
looks  for  them.  That's  what  impresses  me.  I  keep  won- 
dering whether  we're  mere  flotsam  and  jetsam,  that  have 
nothing  to  do  but  toss  in  the  current;  or  whether  there's 
anything  that  wiH  steady  us  and  take  us  along  a  definite 
road  with  some  amount  of  oonfidpnce."     She  glanced 

toward  the  fire,  so  as  to  include  her  other  guest.    "Mr. 
Bainbridge,  do  3:ou  know?" 

The  question  forced  Bainbridge  out  of  himself,  though 
he  was  not  ready  to  join  in  a  conversation  in  which  he 
had  no  heart.  Moreover,  he  divined  on  Grant's  part  an 
impatience  of  his  presence,  while  he  considered  it  only 
fair  to  give  his  rival— if  they  were  rivals-the  one  oppor- 
tumty  that  could  come  to  him.  "Do  I  know  what'"  he 
managed  to  ask,  after  a  second  in  which  he  seemed  to 
stare  at  her  unintelligently. 

"Do  you  know  how  we,  as  individuals,  can  be  prepared 
to  meet  the  surprises  of  which  life  keeps  such  a  vast 
variety  in  store  for  us?" 

Bainbridge  took  ut>  the  theme  only  because  he  was 
obliged  to.  "What  do  you  mean  by  being  prepared?  If 
it's  the  elimination  of  fear — " 

"Well,  perhaps  it  «,"  she  agreed,  promptly.  "I  never 
thought  of  It  before;  but  if  preparedness,  as  the  word 
begins  to  go,  means  anything,  it  means  that.  The  elimi- 
nation of  fear!  If  we  could  only  reach  that  state,  person- 
ally and  nationally!   But  we  can't,  can  we?" 

Again  Bainbridge  answered  only  because  he  could  see 
she  spoke  a  Uttle  feverishly,  and  he  was  eager  to  do  his 
part  in  steering  the  conversation  safely.    "  We  can,  if  we 
193 


i 


. 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

go  by  the  right  road-which  «  what  very  few  people  wfll 

.hZ^*  "l***  "^  *°  elinunate  fear?  Why.  sm^y  if 
there  .s  such  •  road  if.  the  one  we  should  all  Uketoike 
If  we  weren't  afraid,  it  would  be  because  we  kn^ 
were  safe;  and  if  we  were  safe"-^e  laughrf  witTth! 
"Slightest^,,  of  excitement-"if  we  wJ^sSe  itit 
w^dbe-.t  would  be  bliss.    Do  teU  «,  how  to  fef  the 

spoke.    By  way  of  getting  out  of  the  nxwi  still  on  the 

whoUync«.i««onal  note  he  continued,  a.  he  went  forwarf 
to  take  his  leave:   "Preparedness  isn't  a  nwtterT^ 

planationsomuchasifsoneoflife.  You  om't  prepl^ 
by  fits  and  starts;  neither  can  you  prepare  for  one^ 
and  neg^ert  another.  It's  got  to  be  a  big  business  bmI 
tti^gh  business  and  a  long  business;  L  whry^^e 
given  yourself  up  to  it—" 

ctergyman,  who  now  stood  beside  the  table 

"Then  you  can  feel  tolerably— secure  " 

"But^^ure  against-how  much?"  came  from  Qorinda. 

The  reply  was  more  to  himself  and  his  own  inner  ne^ 
than  to  his  compamons,  as  Bainbndge  said:    "Aeainst 

C^h'elTH-'^"  to  dread."  With  delibilS 
b^use  he  was  thinking  of  himsdf.  he  went  on  to  enu^ 
«erate.  Against-against  hont«-against  difficult  situ- 
ahons-^gamst  loss  of  nerve-^gainst  not  knowing  the 
nght  thing  to  do-and-and-"  his  voice  d4p2 
slightly-"  against  not  being  able  to  do  it  " 
^^Jonnda  clasped  her  hands.    "Ah.  but  that  would  be 

•'Well,  yes,"  Bainbndge  agreed.    "If  the  kingdom  of 
194 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


^^  «^'^,^y««.  why  then,  ^^^^^^  „, 
T^>.-     He  held  out  hi.  hand.    'TmE 


go 


"  y°".^'l  r^  now,  you 
I  rtist 


r^.'S.'i;,:,.?^""'"-  >».«  w  js:: 

'•Not  now.    Some  other  time-if  you  should  reaUy  want 

ya^tyXtr''*'"'^''**'"*^^^'--  "Oh.  why  do 
"Because  very  few  people  do  want  to  know  it.    We're 

"ally-  Were  subject  to  hysteria,  and  so  we  make  f«7r 
efforts  mere  flashes  in  the  pan.  Real  pre^^rt  ^^ 
tmuousandba^ic:  and  the  continuous Ld'^c^^X 
S  i^ff'"".*..^*-  ^"*-  "  ^-'^  ««-  -,  I  Jfy 
He  had  forced  his  farewells  and  turned  to  make  his 
w^to  the  door,  when  he  heard  Clorinda  say,  wi^cl^ 

it^ntiH  "^T^^'  ^°^  y°"  8°  ^^y  that  w^Mr 
£2rS  Ir^^^  engaged"^he  hesitated  an 
^!!i  ^"^  "'^«'  ^  if  to  make  herself  inevocablv 
understood-"to  bo  married."  urevocably 

risffJ^'^"''f  •*^f  "^^  •"=  ^'^  Malcohn  Grant 

nse  ten  h-s  cha^  with  a  look  which  could  only  be  de- 

scnbed  as  thunderous.     It  was  diluted  not  »  mu^ 

I9S 


(i* 


m 


ftp 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

toward  Clarinda  u  to  Bidabrid^«  himidf.    "Then  I 
ittpp^^  I  must  ooDgntuUte  yo«  bot*-." 

T. .;  smcerity  of  the  words  was  contradicted  by  the 
eager  which  seeoied  to  shake  the  Canadian's  huge  petion 
—en  anger  before  which  Qorinda  momentarily  quailed, 
rising  and  seeming  to  shrink  from  the  baronet's  profifered 
hand. 


i,.Ji 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON  hk  way  home  Bainbridge  dropped  in  at  Gnmt'i 
hotel,  and  wrote: 

Dea«  Sn  Malcolm  Gramt,— If  jrou  are  at  leieure  thia 
eveni-  ;  may  I  ask  you  to  look  in  on  me  at  my  bouse,  as  I  have 
iWTiftihing  ot  importance  to  say? 

Youis  sincerely, 

AXIHDS  Baimbkidob. 

At  half  pest  eight  the  Canadian  arrived.  That  during 
the  past  two  or  three  houn  he  had  gone  through  some 
violent  emotion  Bainbridge  could  see  from  his  dark- 
streaked  pallor  as  well  as  from  the  hunched,  weighted 
carriage  of  his  shoulders.  "I  got  your  note,"  was  his 
only  form  of  greeting  as  he  strode  into  the  room  and 
stood  still. 

"I'm  glad  youVe  come,"  Bainbridge  said,  quietly. 
"There  are  two  or  throe  tilings  I  wanted  to  say." 

And  yet  they  were  seated  for  some  minutes  on  either 
side  of  the  smoldering  fire,  in  the  relative  positions  of 
two  years  earlier,  before  Bainbridge  had  mastered  himself 
sufficiently  to  begin.  "I  want  you  to  know,"  be  forced 
himself  to  say  tlien,  "that  anything  that's  new  and— 
and  astonishing  to  you  in  our  present  situation  is  just  as 
new  and  astonishing  to  me." 

The  expression  Bainbrit^e  called  thunderous  had  not 
left  the  banker's  face.    It  hung  there  like  a  great  doud, 
ip7 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

lowering  and  fuU  of  storm.    "If  you  want  me  to  know 
anything,"  Grant  said  at  last,  "you'll  have  to  speak  more 
plainly." 
"  I  don't  want  to  speak  more  plainly  than  I  can  help—" 
"Hasn't  the  time  for  delicate  niceties  gone  by?" 
Possibly;  but  not  the  time  for  sympathetic  considera- 
tion- -for  every  one  concerned." 
"Oh,  sympathetic  consideration!    If  it's  only  that—" 
"If  it's  only  that  we  don't  gain  much;  but  we  do  get 
a  point  of  view.    The  important  thing  seems  to  me  that, 
in  our  present  curious  and  difficult  conjuncture,  all  three 
of  us— you,  Clorinda,  and  myself— should  take  the  right 
attitude  from  the  start." 

The  visitor  towered  in  his  ann<hair,  his  hands  on  his 
hips.  "If  you  think  I'm  blaming  any  one,  I'm  not— 
nobody  but  myself." 

"As  to  that,  of  course,  I've  nothing  to  say.  I  don't 
knovsr  what  reason  you  have  for  blaming  yourself—" 

"I've  the  reason,"  Grant  declared,  with  the  brutality 
that  comes  of  suffering,  "that  I  didn't  take  her  when  I 
could  have  had  her." 

Bainbridge  felt  as  if  he  had  recoiled  from  a  blow, 
though  outwardly  he  maintained  his  quietness  of  bearing! 
"Ah?    You  could  have— have  had  her?" 
"I  could-   if  I'd  gone  the  right  way  to  work." 
"And— and  you  didn't— go  the  right  way  to  work?" 
"No." 

The  monosyllable  was  emphatic,  so  emphatic  that  it 
seemed  to  cut  t',e  conversation  short.  A  long  minute 
went  by  before  Bainbridge  could  resume.  "As  to  that 
you  may  tell  me  as  much  or  as  little  as  you  choose.  I 
know  that  something  must  have  happened  between  you, 
after  you  left  this  house  two  years  ago— or  .that  you  had 
198 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

reasons  of  your  own  for— for  not  wanting  anything 
to  happen  at  aU.  I  merdy  beg  you  to  understand 
that — " 

But  Grant  had  no  attention  to  spare  for  what  was  not 
the  aching  and  reproach  within  himself.  "She'd  have 
taken  me  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  way  I  put  it." 

Being  again  taken  by  surprise,  Bainbridge  was  obliged 
to  reflect.  "I  suppose  the  way  of  putting  it  could  have 
had  no  importance  if  it  hadn't  betrayed  a  point  of  view. 
I've  forgotten  what  I  said  the  last  time  we  taJked  the 
matter  over  in  thii  room;  but  I  fancy  I  must  have  told 
you  that  your  own  state  of  mind  would  be,  as  much  as 
anything,  the  determining  factor  of  your  success— or  of 
the  lack  of  it." 

"My  state  of  mind  was  what  any  other  man's  would 
have  been  in  the  same  set  of  ciicumstana.s." 

"I  don't  think  we  can  judge  by  that.  Each  of  us  has 
his  own  problem;  and  each  man's  problem  is  unique. 
In  Its  working  out  we  have  to  stand  or  fall  alone.  As  far 
as  I  remember  what  you  said,  you  accepted  accepted 
standards;  and  accepted  standards  generally  have  to  be 
modified  to  meet  an  individual's  need." 

"I  accepted  accepted  standards  only  to  the  extent  of 
setting  them  aside." 

"Because  of  anything  I  said?" 

"No;  because  you  didn't  say  anything— decisive.  She 
sent  me  to  you;  but  you  wouldn't  speak." 

"Yes;  I  remember  now.  I  didn't  feel  at  Uberty  to 
speak.  I  recall,  too,  that  you  showed  an  inclination  to— 
to  draw  certain  conclusions  of  your  own — " 

"  In  which  I  was  right."  Having  hesitated  a  minute,  he 
added,  brusquely,  "She  told  me  so." 

"Indeed?" 

«S9 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"And  I  told  *«r  I'd— I'd  marry  her  if  she  was-if  she 
was  in  the  gutter." 

Bainlwidge  stirred,  leaning  forward  eagerly  in  his  seat 
And  she—?" 

"She  said  she  wouldn't  marry  me— if  I  were  on  a 

throne." 

"And  were  you  surprised  at  that?" 
"I  was— then." 

"But  you  wouldn't  be  now.  Is  that  trfiat  you 
mean?"  ' 

"I'm  two  years  older,  and— hang  it  all!— the  war  has 
been  an  eye-opener  in  some  respects." 

"In  showing  us  the  difference  between  accepted  stand- 
ards  and  real  ones.    Is  that  it?" 

"In  showing  us  that  some  things  are  more  important 
than  others,  and  that  we've  often  thrown  the  weight  into 
the  wrraig  scale.  But  what's  the  use  of  talking?  She's 
going  to  marry  you — "  , 

"She  may  be  going  to  marry  me— but  even  so  she  can't 
do  It  without  some  inner  reference  to  you." 

"She  would  have  done  it  without  any  inner  reference 
to  me  if  I  hadn't  turned  up— what?" 
"But  you've  turned  up.    That's  the  main  thing." 
"It  may  be  the  main  thing  to  me;  but  it  can't  make 
any  difference  to  you  or  her." 

"Then  you  think  that,  with  three  people  so  intimately 
mvdved  as  we  are,  the  main  thing  for  one  can  pass  over 
the  other  two  and  have  no  effect?" 
"What  effect  can  it  have?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  know,  beyond  the  fact  that  we 
need  have  no  personal  ill  will.  Since  it's  a  moral  axiom 
that  whatever  blesses  one  blesses  all,  I  can't  be  happy  at 
the  price  of  your  unhappiness — " 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


"Btrt  I  caa  be  twhappy  at  the  price  of 
foUy,  can't  !?'• 


my  own  damned 

Bainbridge  responded  to  this  with  some  deKbewtion. 

Neither  happiness  nor  mihappiness  springs  from  facts 
so  much  as  from  our  way  of  facing  them.  The  only 
reason  for  being  wretched  over  one.*  own  damned  foUy 
is  m  seeing  nothij    but  folly  as  the  issue." 

"I  do  see  nothing  but  foUy  as  the  issue,  since  I  see— 
this." 

"And  of— of  this  you  don't  see  the  consequences  as 
yet— you  don't  see  the  end." 

"Ah,  don't  come  that  over  me,  for  God's  sake!  I  know 
lie  sort  of  thing  you  want  to  say— that  it  may  be  all  for 
the  b«t.  Why.  man,  die-she  belongs  to  me;  we  were 
made  for  each  other." 

B^bridge  seemed  to  study  the  tips  of  his  fingere, 
which  he  fitted  together.  "  Perhaps  that  may  not  be  as 
obvious  to  others-to  her,  for  example— or  even  to  mfr- 
as  It  seems  to  you;  but  even  if  it  was— " 

"She'd  have  married  me,"  Grant  brol»  out,  hoarsely 

if  I  hadn't  used  that  confounded  expression.  I  hurt  her 
pride." 

"You  did  more  than  that;  you  destroyed  your  own 
vision." 

Grant  stared  vacantly.    "My  own  vision?" 

"Your  conception  of  the  woman  whom  you  wanted— 

and  whom  apparently  you  still  want— as  your  wife    Once 
you  had  degraded  that—" 

"That  was  done  for  when  I  fouod  yoa  knew  something 
about  her  you  wouldn't  tell  me.  When  I  went  back  to 
her  and  told  her  that,  she  said-she  said  she'd  tell  me 
herself." 

"And  you  say  she  did?" 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


"God,  yes!    Finest  thinu  I  ever  saw     m«  - • 

room  and  told  ine"-he  swaUowed  hanl-"told  n«rf,Z! 

sUently  within  his  own  heart.   Thev  lifteH  ru^I,  T  r 
the  world,  pilloried  and  despisS^'^nf ^.S'^^'J'^^ 
h^  done  right  in  ^fusing  Gi^t  the  inSiJ^n  2t 

tLTf :,  ul        !™*  ^^  ^  ^^^'^  himself  that  in 
that  he  had  had  no  choice.  Grant  went  on  again. 

the  ^y  si  JU.reiSS^--p^tt  ri 

^^^W  ^™  ^^'^  -  -^^"^  -  love'^th  mTas 
WM  with  her-^p  to  then.    If  I  hadn't  been-" 

asS'tS  11  *^;  'f'^^io'^  impelled  Bainbridge  to 
assist  the  pemtent  when  in  difficulties  for  words     w« 

SrS^T^e  K^  T^  ""  *°  '^^'f •  he  found 

n^  .r^.u      ?.  ^'  "P^S***  '^'  Stuttering  out  his  pain 

h^^^le  ^^r  ^"  ^^  ^^-  -^-  °-*  ^°^' 

f  J"  ^  ^'*  heen  a  crazy  fcol.    That's  what  I  wa»-a 

£l~^h  a"^";  •'  -"^"^  *°  '^*  *°  attack  hi.^ 
bear  with  a  shot  m  Its  body.  I  said  it.  I  said  it  juTJ 
an  animal  might  make  a  hlin^  r„»i,    u  «  JUSt  as 

maddened     tTh„T^  "**'  because  it's  been 

^aS  v.t  ^  "^"^  *  "^  everything  it-it  impUed." 
And  yet.  m  a  way,  you  did." 

Grant  accepted  this.    "I-I  suppose  so,"  he  admitted. 
202  ^ 


i-aa  !  ; 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


humMy.     "I  didn't  see  her  as-as  I  aw  her  ^ft^ 
Ijotaway.    When  she  told  n.e  aU  tit.Tth^hf o^ 

enZr."*!^'*  *f  "'  "^^  y°"  *'««'>*  °f  her  as.    It's 
«wugh  to  know  that  when  you  got  away  you  saw  you 

felt  that,  you  never  came  back  to  teU  her  so  " 

By  George!  she  showed  me  to  the  door!"  he  blurted 
rpoSL^^"^'"^^-    "^^-^^^^^ 
;;So  that  if  you  hurt  her  pride  she  rounded  on  youi„." 

the  Mow  with  a  voice  like  a  bass  drum-she^  ^i^ 
-ar^.  bnng  Sir  Mal<»hn  Grant  his  hat  and'i'^Sht 
^■r^^t'^^'-''    I'd  have  come  back  if 

"And  yet  you've  come  back  now?" 
*^7^^TL^  "^^'"^  '^^'^  ''  ^5^  '°°8er.    I've  tried- 

mont^h     T  ^  "f  *^^-     ^'  ^  ^^  «  the  fct 
months  than  it  was  Uter.    When  war  began-weU  that 

^-tofh^^'^^fr'"*'   ^"Sdow^foh^d 
^tJ^         A  T  "^  **  "^  staadatd-«ot  the  ac- 

fl^ voice-  as  far  as  I've  got  a  real  standard  it's-it's 
somehow  connected  with— with  her  " 

Bainbridge  mused  for  a  while  in  silence.  When  he 
spoke  .t  was  quieay  and  without  raising  his  eyes  -my 
do  you  say  that  to  m«?— mw.?"  ^ 

abS  t'S^h'^  P«»°Pt  and  naive,  like  so  much  else 
about  this  big,  elemental  man.  "Because  you're  in 
wrong,  old  boy    You  won't  make  a  go  of  it^ 

a  go  of  ,t,    he  said,  after  a  brief  space  of  thinking  "is 

203 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

s^daiy.    K  one  does  what's  right  &c  the  minute  the 
•naking  a  go  of  it  will  take  care  ofitsdt" 

TJe  thunder  of  the  voice  recaUed  to  BaJnhnM™.  *i,. 
«rmle  just  used  of  the  rush  JTZZ  ^^^-^ 
you  call  this  ngAtf"  »uuu«,  m  pam.      And 

''It  may  not  seem  right  to  you—" 
"You  can  bet  your  Hfe  it  doesn't  " 
•'If  that's  because  you  think  I  didn't  play  fai,^- 
I  don  t  go  as  far  as  that.    I  can't  help  saying  that  it 

^on  -  Bambndge  nodded-"that  after  aU  you  s^d 
TZ  ^  ^\  "^^  ^"^'^  ^3-didn't  ^y.  mi,^^ 
Ishould  come  b^  here  and  find  you-fi^  ^in^. 
session,  so  to  speak.    It  looks  as  if  you'd  tak^  r^J^ 
and  worked  it  against  me."  «  y«><l  taken  my  tap 

to  "J!!!*'''-'?**  I  '^  af^id  of;  and  we  sha'n't  be  able 
to  start  nght  unless  you  know  the  truth.     If  yoS 

urant  b«it  forward,  his  hands  on  lus  knees.  His  atti 
tude  was  that  of  a  man  trying  to  take  in  t^  tey^d 
lus^power  of  comprehension.    "You-you  diS^^^^ 

Bainbridp  repeated  his  statement,  putting  it  as 
simply  as  he  could.  p^i-i-jng   a   as 

The  Canadian  raised  himself  and  fdl  back  into  the 
304 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


depths  of  liis  chair.    "Good  God! 
-  -  trap!'- 


So 


in  a  trap!"  ""  5^*"  **"  «««l»t 

C^V  I^l"^^"^"^^  ^'*  °«««arily  a  trap." 
Grant  asked  his  question  as  a  man  who  feels  that  n,.,.^ 
-y^g  on  the  answer.    "But  nowSt^'i"^^ 
what  difference  wiU  it  make.?"  ^^ 

"  None.    Why  should  it?" 
"But,  man — " 

"Am  I  doing  anything  you  wouldn't  do  yourself?" 

"Jsth"^"""*"''"^'^-   And  even /SL.. 

l-iSeTh^^LXr  1^^"^  '^^'^  ^-^^  ^  ^ 

exIS?'  '  "^  "'^  ^'  sbould-^ould  set  a  high 

;;And  what  would  be  a  high  example-in  this  case'" 

has  adSSd   .  ^  ^u*^*-     "Many  a  woman  who 
^^  admitted  to  us  both  that  she's-a  sinner.      Is 

Grant  nodded  an  assent. 
"But  what's  a  sinner'" 

whaf?^1  th^en^s°"a  tr.^^  ^'^  '— 

ofZ°^d:?me?'°°''°"^^^°^^°«-    But  what 
"We're  not  women." 

«„3"'-  "^'r  V  "°^-    ^*'^  P°^"«  that  we  may  have 
smned  m  just  the  way  that  she  has."  ^ 

'But  we're  men." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?" 

talk'of'^t^/'^'^^'*-    I  l^ow  that  some  people 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


In  my  case  I  mmm  tomalce 


■    "But  that's  just  the  point, 
it  work." 

The  baronet  struck  his  knee  with  his  dosed  fist,  with 
some  emphasis.    "My  dear  sir,  you  won't;  you  can't- 
It  s  not  in  nature." 
"But  if  it's  in  my  nature—" 

Grant  shook  his  head  violently.  K  there  had  been 
mirth  m  the  inarticulate  sound  that  brake  frocn  his  Hps 
he  might  be  said  to  have  laughed.  "But  it's  not.  It's 
not  m  any  man's  nature.    If  he  thinks  it  is—" 

"You  mean  that  what  can  be  wrong  for  the  woman  can 
be  nght— or  almost  right— for  the  man." 
"That's  about  it." 

"And  yet  we  have  a  case  which  most  of  us  would  con- 
sider to  have  some  authority  in  which  it  wasn't  treated 
so.  It's  a  case,  too,  which  the  general  concensus  of 
hmiaQ  opinion  holds  to  have  been  dealt  with  supremely 

By  his  looks  and  his  silence  Grant  appeared  to  ask 
what  case. 

"Th»e  was  a  woman  taken  in  adultery  and  brought 
before  One  whom  I  fancy  you  and  I  both  revere.  Those 
who  brought  her  were  men.  Except  for  herself  there 
were  only  men  in  the  company.  And  yet  it  was  to  them 
to  thw  group  composed  entirely  of  men,  that  the  Saviour 
said.  He  that  is  without  sin  amonj  you  let  him  firet  cast 
a  stone  at  her.'  He  made  no  distinction  between  their 
sm  and  hers.  They  themselves  saw  no  dir^inction  for 
one  by  one  they  went  out  and  left  her  there.  It  seems 
to  me,    he  concluded,  "that  we  may  be  like  them." 

In  Grant's  tone  there  was  a  grievance-there  was 
sometbng  shocked.  "Oh.  if  you're  going  to  bring  that 
into  affairs  like  yours  and  mine—" 

306 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

K  IS  there.  I  also  take  it  for  granted  that  we  eet  the 
keynote  of  our  conduct  towari  sinners  of  ev^lLdlhen 

l^'  5u  ^^  ""^  °°  °^-     I*'"  *e  sinning  no  more  that 

S  J:^S:r *  7f  ^°"=  --^  '^'^  ^-  *e^ditt 
wiuch  the-the  lady  of  whom  we're  speakii.g  has  fulfilled  " 
He^c^tmued  while  Gmnt  ix«e  hea^o^tZ™nd 

tTl^t  ^  *°  *?.''  ""^S  ^=    "Y««r  own  attSde 

toward  her  IS  something  I  don't  clearly  see" 

The   Canadian   took   his   time    in   x«>lyiae      "Mv 

'".^^f  right."  he  declared,  moSr whence 

co^idered  he  had  thought  the  matter  J     "i  can'" 

Zr  ^  "^^^.^^  ^*^^  •^y  y^  conviction." 
Omnt  surveyed  the  can^,  the  hearth-rug.  and  his 

TtL  fl^  t^«  P°«>f°°."  he  said  at  last,  still  looking 
^  it  X^  '  my  wif^on't  you  see?-^e  coull 
^  It  off-^t  a  pmch;  as  yours-I  don't  see  how  she 

"You  mean  as  the  wife  of  a  layman—" 
b."J^i  *•  °^  7''°u"^^  ^  *°°*^  c»untry-^d  belongs 

T  =7  M  fl"^^*  *^*  ^*  '^•^'t  ^  ^  a  clei^yman  tha^ 
I  should  be  manying  her-not  any  mo^  th  J^woSd 

dothe^sameasabanker.    In  both  cases  wc  sho^d  s^y 

they  re  different  m  breed  and  in  qualities.  A  woman  who 
has  a  cW  between  a  banker  and  a  clergyman  h^a 
choice  between  men;  but  she  also  has  a  ch^HeS^ 

207 


'i 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

twoldndgoflife-^what?  She  might  take  to  tne  one  as  a 
filly  to  the  pasture,  and  find  that  she  didn't  have  the 
lungs  or  the  speed  for  the  other." 

Bainbridge  was  not  offended  by  the  nature  of  this 
comparison,  but  he  was  disturbed  l^  a  hint  of  truth  in  it. 
Rising  abruptly,  he  began  to  p&oe  the  room  with  a  land 
of  agitation  to  which  he  didn't  generally  yield.  He  had 
never  forgotten  that  Clorinda  herself  had  said:  "That  I 
should  be  the  wife  of  a  clergyman  is  inconceivable." 
Somehow  it  was  inconceivable.  It  had  alwa}^  been  in- 
conceivable. Now  that  Sir  Malcolm  Grant  was  there,  he, 
Bainbridge,  understood  how  the  man  oouM  put  forth  his 
savage  claim  that  Qorinda  and  he  were  made  for  each 
other.  They  were— in  a  sense.  They  had  similar  tra- 
ditions and  a  similar  knowledge  of  the  world.  In  both 
there  was  a  minimtun  of  soul,  even  if  a  soul  was  in  process 
of  emerging,  while  each  suggested  the  fine  animal,  the 
thoroughbred,  the  creature  noble  of  body  and  gentle  of 
temper,  and  winsome  and  high-spirited  and  strong.  Could 
the  one  go  tamely  off  about  his  business?  and  could  the 
other  be  broken  to  the  yoke  of  the  parish  round,  with  its 
petty,  if  benevolent,  interests,  its  teacup  quarrels,  and  its 
old  wives'  tales  .  .  .  ? 

He  was  still  pondering  these  questions  when  Grant 
strode  across  from  his  place  on  the  hearth-rug  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  He  could  do  it,  partly  because  he 
was  so  big,  partly  becaxise,  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
he  was  the  elder. 

"Look  here,  Bainbridge,"  he  began,  in  a  kindly  tone, 
"you're  a  good  fellow— by  God!  you  are  good!—" 

Bainbridge  threw  back  his  head  and  looked  up.    "I 
dare  say  it  seems  so  to  you,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "but— 
but  I  know  to  the  contrary." 
ao8 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"Thm«nicaa«ayisthatyouputup«giw(tMuff  I 
•dnut  the  truth  of  most  of  the  things  you  say.  lU  eo 
further  and  confess  that  I  never  heard  a  man  reel  off  so 

much  truth  to  the  square  -ard " 

"You  forget,"  Bainbridge  smiled,  faintly,  "that  the 
tows  of  conduct  are  my  business  just  as  the  methods  of 
finana  are  youis.  I  hope  that  the  world  needs  both  of 
us  and  that  I  can  serve  my  turn." 

"You  bet  you  serve  your  turn— but  I  don't  believe 
that  your  turn  is  in  the  direction  in  which  you're  lookine 
for  It  now.    I~I  doH't." 
"  But  if  I  do—" 

"Then  you're  wrong."  Grant  now  laid  a  hand  on 
each  of  the  shoulders  of  the  other  man,  holding  him 
at  arm'^length.  "A  woman  who's  had  the  experience 
shes  had  might  be  my  wife-she  could  fit  herself  into 
the  position— and  — and  so  could  I  — now— but  she 
couldn't  be  yours."  He  added,  as  with  a  Uttle  shove 
he  withdrew  his  hands,  "There  you  have  it  from  me 
straight." 

Bainbridge  stepped  back,  looking  at  his  rival  with  the 
clear,  deep  gaze  of  eyes  with  an  unusual  capacity  for 
candor  and  intensity.  "And  what  you  have  straight  from 
me  IS  that  love  can  work  miracles.  A  man's  love,"  he 
went  on,  "can  do  anything  for  a  woman—" 

"So  you've  told  me  once  already;  but  you  added,  'if  it's 
of  the  nght  sort.'  " 

"And  mine  is." 

"Mine  wasn't."  Grant  declared,  firmly.    "I  confess  to 

that.    Butitisnow.byGeorgel-andifitisn'trUmake 
It  so."  ^^ 

"Then  it  seems  to  me  n    can  only  leave  it  to  her." 
"  Will  you  leave  it  to  her?" 
309 


k 
H 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"111-111  leave  it  to  more  than  to  her.    Ill  Wve  it- 

^  U  to  the  g«.t  priadpla  o<  right.  wJS  nTvit 
*?j^'^I««ve«nyonear«aythiagetae." 

And  on  the  word  they  damped  handfc 


CHAPTER  XV 

JT  Tws  the  first  time  Bainbridge  had  ever  ««,  n^ 
1  nnda  s  anger  flame  out  agaiasrhi.*^  ""  ^ 

above  aU  orhers   Tt  il      ""°"^/  ^•>°«'d  have  chosen 

I  r  hed  to  S;  tSlTJTon^ei:^!; "-  ^-  '^'•'  •^ 

^  a  Pnxessiontf  "SrSr^n*.^'^  "'^'^ 
ground,  the  snow  danced  JTfl  ^  ^  *"■  °°  *he 

ened.  eddying  intot^,^t oZ^^^J^'  ^ 
into  the  crevifw  nf  ^,  j      .     ^"^'>  pelting  itself 

lashing  thf^of  thTr  '^'^  '""'*°'"  ^"^  'l°°"^ays. 
lights  fhaT^i'^       ■  P^^-by.  W«rtng  the  arc! 

4t  staS.  ^^^HoSr  hir  r  s^  --  ^■ 

^l«g  off  into  infinity.    Now  a^dXr,     "^^  ^^'"'  "^ 

b-gham  ttSr  thl  Se  ^^^.^.'T'r ^ 
b-ness  nian  battled  his  way  hameir^riiten' 


;;i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

a  girl,  lithe  and  buoyant,  made  herself  the  spirit  of  the 
wind;  but  mostly  the  great  street  was  empty  of  every- 
thing but  the  sweep  and  onrush  of  the  tempest. 

In  its  force  and  grandeur  and  terror  and  exhilaration 
Bainbridge  found  it  akin  to  something  within  himself. 
Clorinda  had  renewed  her  promise  to  marry  him.  She 
had  renewed  it  with  deliberation  and  a  kind  of  splendor. 
"You  know  already  that  I  mean  to  do  what  you've 
asked  me — and  be  your  wife." 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  she  should  have  made 
this  declaration  stan<Mng,  in  the  royal  attitude,  with  the 
grand  manner  of  one  who  confers  distmction  and  knows 
that  she  is  doing  it.  When  Bainbridge  had  bowed  over 
the  hand  she  offered  him,  she  allowed  the  other  to  lie 
lightly  and  caressingly  on  his  head. 

It  was  the  touch  that  made  him  nothing  but  a  man. 

When  after  a  minute,  if  time  could  be  measured  by 
tickings  of  the  clock,  she  released  herself  from  him,  not 
without  a  struggle,  the  gesture  with  which  her  hand  went 
up  to  the  scarlet  spot  on  her  cheek  might  have  been  that 
of  a  princess  outraged  and  amazed. 

"You  mustn't — "  she  began  to  stammer,  tremblingly. 

"I  mustn't— what?"  he  challenged. 

"You  mustn't" — she  began,  tremblingly  again — "you 
mustn't  startle  me." 

He,  too,  was  flushed.  His  eyes  glistened  as  she  had 
never  seen  them  glisten  before.  "Oh,  Qorinda,  don't  you 
remember  telling  me  you  were  made  for  love?" 

She  was  still  the  amazed  and  outraged  princess.  "Yes; 
but  you  weren't." 

"Oh  yes,  I  was — with  one  side  of  my  nature.  It's  a 
side  that  now — " 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

Though  the  back  of  her  hand  ^/Jis  against  f^  cheek  as 
if  she  was  hiding  a  stain,  she  contrived  to  smile  faintly. 
"Yes,  yes;  but  not  too— not  too  suddenly.  I  must  get 
used  to  yoa— "  His  kwk  may  have  touched  her.  for  she 
extended  her  hands  to  him  at  once,  with  what  might 
have  been  compunction.  "There!  You  can  take  my 
hands— both  of  them.  They're— they're  youis.  Only- 
only  don't— don't  startle  me  again." 

Once  more  she  aUowed  him  to  cover  both  her  hands 
with  kisses:  once  more  she  released  one  of  them  and  ran 
It  hghtly  across  his  hair.  This  done,  she  detached  herself 
and  moved  away  to  a  place  of  greater  safety.  "Sit  down," 
she  commanded,  pointing  to  one  of  the  worn  arm-chaira 
Having  seated  herself  at  the  French  eighteenth^^ntury 
desk  that  combined  the  attributes  of  business  and  ele- 
gance, she  subjoined:  "Now  we  can  talk." 

Talk  was  not  Bainbridge's  primary  need.  For  the  first 
tune  he  was  seized  with  a  pang  that  seemed  to  tiansfonn 
lus  being  into  a  sheet  of  flame.  He  could  not  have  said 
that  It  was  either  jealousy  or  rage;  it  was  rather  as  if 
scales  had  suddenly  fallen  from  his  eyes  so  that  he  saw 
her  as  she  was.  Not  in  thjs"way  had  she  yielded  herself 
to  the  man  who  had  been  her  lover  for  two  years.  He 
had  forgotten  the  words  in  which  she  had  told  him  so,  but 
he  had  retained  their  general  significance.  In  that  case 
there  had  been  an  electric  flash  of  emotion,  violent  and 
irresistible,  in  comparison  with  which  nothing  would  have 
mattered,  not  if  it  was  to  be  death  at  the  next  moment. 
There  had  been  no  shrinking  from  him,  no  keeping  him 
at  arm's-length.    She  had  been  his,  and  his  willingly. 

Not  tiU  he  saw  her  remove  herself  from  him  had  this 
thought  really  come  to  him.    In  the  duality  of  his  own 
ouUook  he  had  viewed  her  hitherto  less  as  a  woman  than 
a  13 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

as  a  soul.  Even  since  the  discovery  of  her  actual  identity 
rnade  twenty-four  hours  earUer.  he  had  been  able  to 
think  of  her  as  the  sinning  woman  of  the  New  Testament 
with  h«  qualities  of  pity,  glamour,  and  picturesqueness," 
while  tte  sublime,  "Neither  do  I  condemn  th^."  ^ 
chanted  itself  like  an  anthem  in  his  heart.  Now  that 
was  gone.  Smnething  had  dispeUed  the  vision  and  stopped 
the  song.  What  he  saw  was  the  woman  whom  he  lov^ 
noble,  magnificent-^d  defiled.  For  a  minut«  he  under- 
stood the  passion  of  the  Othellos  and  Don  Jos&  of  the 
WOTld,  which  can  kill  more  easfly  than  it  can  do  anything 

"You  love  me,  don't  you,  Clorinda?" 

Though  thore  was  more  anguish  than  a.  surance  in  the 
quKtion,  Clonnda  smiled.  "  I  told  you  on  Christmas  Eve 
that  I  was  a&aid  I  did-^d-and  I  do."  Before  he 
could  make  a  response  she  added,  softly:  "Ifs  one  of 
the  kinds  of  love." 

He  stared  blankly.  "One  of  the  kinds  of  love >  What 
do  you  mean?" 

Her  agitation  struggled  with  her  efforts  to  be  self-con- 
faoUed  and  cahn.  "I  mean  that  if  there  are  more  kinds 
than  one,  this  is  the  kind  I  can  feel  for  you." 

"And  you  could  feel  another  for  some  one  else'"  he 
asked  suspiciously.  "Do  you  want  me  to  understand 
that.' 

"No;  but— but  ifs  a  question  you  shouldn't  ask  me 
When  I  teU  you  that  I  do  love  you-^ncerely  and 
honestly -enough  to  maity  you -you  ought  to  be 
content." 

"But— but  the  kind  you  can  feel  for  me?  What  kind 
M  that?"  ^^ 

ShQ  looked  down  at  the  paper-weight  with  which  her 
ai4 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


fingOT  toyed.    "I  suppose-r  suppose  the  t,n-i 

fed  for  a-for  a  cleigym^       '^'^  ^''^  '^^  °°«  <^^n 

He  flushed  to  a  deeper  shade  of  red     "But  I'm  .  . 
d^M-^n  this  relation.    r„.  o^ a  r^''' "  "°*  ^ 

She  continued  to  finger  the  paper-weiehT  "v™  - 
clergyman  before  you're  ^ytZT^t\r,.     «  ""  ^ 
hadn't  been  a  dei^yman-"  ^  <»  me.    If  you 

"WeU?    What  then'" 

th;^°ab^r~u.'*?°"''  "^^  '  ""^  ^^  -«i  any- 

rinn!  ^"^  ^^'^  '"*°  *^  -^^^^  °f  his  ann-chair     "cin 
nncj  you're  amazing!    How  cam  follow  yti^-       '"°- 
Perhaps  you  can't,"  she  returned,  gently    "but  T 
dont  see  why  you  should  try -when  tie  itt^-", 
concerns  me."  -""«=u  tne  matter  only 

"Only  concerns  you?" 

^^'whff^n?rth:s.rtr-es--sr^j 

obhquely  toward  him,  with  a  cert^fd^denS^^  "  I  ^^ 
for  you.  becaus^because  you're  the  b^t  m^"  t-  ^ 
known.  It's  precisely  blj  !^  "^^  ^^^^  ^^^ 
.that  I  do  care  V™,',™  i^T^  ,  *"®  ''*^  °»an 
that-that  :^  Jrti^eTtS"*?  *°  "^■" 
But  you  wouldn't  have^  L  Jt™.'  .^°^  f=««ber? 
you  are  professionally  ^J't^Z^  ^  '''"* 
a  doctor,  or  a-"  ^^  can  t  miagme  a  lawyer,  or 

''Or  a  banker,"  he  suggested,  cmeUy 

.bout  them.  iS;:urj:hS^;rwt'^e::^rs 

shocked  or  oflfendli--l'm  L"  T.-^'^l^^T??""'.  ^ 


in 


saying 


quite  the  right 


TH£   LIFTED   VEIL 

?hnl7'^'  ^'r  *^f^**  °*  y*~  «  "i"!*  as  one  thinks  of 
Chnst  when  they  brought  to  him  the  woman-'-^ 
He  cned  out  imploringly,  "Don't,  dorindal" 
Then  I  won't.    And  yet  why  should  I  not?    NoK^ 
else  would  ever  have  met  me  as  yTS-^^LSSj 

£:c:.".-r^d-~.-9 
^9^tmTr-r^:--rS 

t^nngs  me  to-to  the  e^lanation  iCLL  I  hav^o 

He  »^  so  busy  with  the  question  as  to  whether  or  n«^ 
rtwas  h^  duty  to  teU  her  that  he  hadn't  ^ti^"° 
^  th^h  her  in  the  way  that  gave  her  h^^hat 
he  could  only  murmur,  half  absenUy.  "Make  h '" 

She  contmued  in  some  ODnfusion:  "It's  just  this- 
Aatyou  must  give  me  time.  You  must  let  meletSed 
to  you  m— m  a  new  Ueht.    When"_tk.  »™  il  ^  ^^ 

^e:rjr.1"*^  ^  ^^^  avSeTTfr! 

eoS'Sl4°'^f''"°°^'*«^'»'*irt-    "But 
good  God.  Uonnda,  I'm  as  much  a  man  as-as"-th« 

name  for«d  its  way  out-"as  Malcolm  G,^^  *" 
Ha-  first  act  was  to  detach  her  skirt  from  his  oI«t^j, 
St^'  -th  gentle.  unhasteni^eh^ti^^'S 
the  expression  of  displeasure  in  her  eyes  she  w^abfe  o 
^toward  him.  though  she  had  be^  kSTh^t^ 
turned  away  "Why  do  you  mention  h^^p^^. 
Because  he's  come  back."  i«aauyr 

3l6 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


"Th«,  you've  beeii  taUdng  me  over  " 
.,Jfow  could  we  help  itT;^en-r 
--    I  C^^^  *?  ^^  *he  fet  place,    v..  ,, 

'^^^esf^-^^^ 

^swered  in  the  sS  of  iTin'^^'^r^^^'^  <«ly  W 
many  blends.  "It  seem^^  ^  ^*^"8  made  up  of 
W  said  that  you-d^*^^.!*^««  that  you  sh^d 

ticula/^*  *?LSf  "^  """^^^  =^^  «  that  par- 
"But  since'l  did  ^^^J S^T -P«««i  her  to  Z, 
for  having  had  a  iW"  *  ^"^  °>«  the  credit 

^  ^^'^hrt-iinoriS"  '^^^-^''^  ■^-^^ 

whipped  him  on.    "OhI  rZ„        f  ^^  ''thers.  that 
love  with  you-"  ^  ^  ^*^««J  that  he  was  stiU  in 

~- r^t-  S^';;-^  ^-  «» «» 

And  that,"  he  itzxiseledZ^'  ■ 
'^  not  without  hop«-f"       °"'  '^°^K  the  stab,  "ho 
ai7 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

He  could  see  that  lier  displeasure  was  heightening  into 
anger.    "And  did  he  send  you  to  plead  for  him?" 

"  No."  he  declared,  with  spirit.  "  If  I'm  pleading  at  aU 
it's  for  yourself,  Clorinda— that  you  won't  marry  me— 
that  you  won't  marry  any  one— till  you  can  marry  him 
as  a  man.  And,  furthermore,  if  there  is  any  one  whom 
you  could  marry  as  a  man— marry  him." 

Impulsively  she  went  toward  him,  placing  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders  in  such  a  way  that  he  was  held  down  in 
his  chair.    Nothing  had  ever  thrilled  him  in  his  life  Uke 
the  struggle  between  indignation  and  tenderness  in  her 
face  and  eyes  as  she  bent  above  him.    "You  must  let  me 
do  what  I  can,"  she  insisted.    "Don't  try  to  force  me,  or 
to  turn  me  into  something  I'm  not.     It's  possible  that 
some  day  I  may  see  you  as  you  want  me  to  see  you;  but 
for  the  present  you're  to  me  just  what  I've  said-^io  less 
and  no  more.    You're  more  to  me  than  a  man— you're  a 
saint— or  an  angel— or  a  priest— or  any  other  high  mes- 
senger you  choose  to  name.    Merely  as  a  man— "    With- 
drawing her  hands  with  an  abrupt  Uttle  gesture  which 
told  him  that  merely  as  a  man  he  would  not  have  appealed 
to  her,  she  went  to  the  window,  where,  with  her  back  to 
him,  she  stood  looking  out  on  the  storm.    He  was  wonder- 
ing how  he  could  demolish  the  halo  with  which  she  sur- 
rounded him,  when  she  began  again :  "  Since  you're  curious 
about  Malcolm  Grant— if  curious  is  the  word— I'll  ex- 
plain to  you.    I  told  you  then  for  the  express  reason  that 
I  wanted  him  to  know.    It  wasn't  the  minute  I  should 
have  chosen  above  all  others ;  but  before  you  left  me  alone 
with  him  I  wished  to  make  the  situation  clear." 

Half  contrite,  he  followed  her  to  the  window.    It  was 
something  to  be  near  her,  even  if  she  refused  to  let  him 
touch  her  and  shrank  from  his  caress.    "But  my  point," 
3i8 


he 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

endeavored  to  sav  as  h«>  *y«  i„i   j 

^as  not  that  vn,ftwA*' *°°*  ^^^^  <>«*  on  the 


"was  not  that  you  sh«Ud  I^veto^dmftr  ?  *^*  ^°^' 
should  have  told  me.  and'^^dS^'Va  tin.f  ^*^°" 
<=««>mstances  might  have  madeT;2  L  ^^  ""'' 
Wait?"  she  exclaimerl  ^^  ,  "^  5^°"  *°  '^t-" 
have  waited  fe?  S^S';™'^"^^-  "^^t  should  I 
towardmelnter^;',;^,??--   He  used  language 

"Tr;  ^  *u'  ^"^^  °^  ^  Sreat  shock;  but-" 

-broken.  If  a  Ctov«  Si'"^''^'*^«'^« 
never  forget  it,  e^if  heT.^""/  *=°'^^<'  y<«  ^ 
ship  is  goLg  di^  Uyl\J°^'^.  °"'>'  ^"^  W3 
tion-as  yo^  harbe^"^^  ^  ""  *^«  ^«  situa- 

h^iated^ebyL'rci.^rs;;^'?,r;'"'  '^^° 

when  she's  down  is  the  mnc*  u  f.  ^^  beat  a  woman 
stincts.  To  t2  her  bv  t^l  'T^  °'  *"«  human  in- 
again,  as  you've  doZ-'^  **""  "^  ^<^  '^  her  up 

^el^CloSfK ->Lr^--  toward  her. 

"Is  it.?    Wasn't  th^ T       ^"^f^^mg  different." 
Q  11,.    wasn  t  tnere  a  woman  in  thp  r;m.>    u 
were  forgiven  because  she  l3  ZTt,        T'^'^  ^ 
the  convei^  of  thatlL  W  ^T'*"^'^  '^"^^n't 
have  loved  muchbl3vf     -^  *™^'  *hat  she  would 

^  "Ves;  buTtferetr^^^L'dre'lSs'^r^" 
feel  toward  God.  and  the  love  we  i^  t^  **  '°^^  ^^ 
dMer^t;  we  mustn't  coS^J^^'ST"--'^"^''* 
<Mferent  sources;  they're  ^  of  ^e"  J^  '^=  ^^ 
come  there  to  a  pW  wW  V  ^"*  "**"«■  "«^e 
clumsy;  buttheh£l„:iri^r^^  ^. '"*="«^^  '^^ 
Clorinda.  I'm  onl^a  JT  Iff  *  ^°^^"  ^"^  ^ 
love  me  as  a  man.    If  y^L't"     *  "^  ^  '^^  y<«; 


u  I  can't,  rt's  because  I 


can't." 
919 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


i?   • 


"If  yoa  can't,  it's  because  .  .  .  Clormda,  tell  me— bow 
near  did  yoa  oome  to  manying  Malocdm  Grant?" 

The  promptness  of  her  answer  took  him  by  surprise. 
"I  oame  very  near — so  near  that  if  his  point  o£  view  had 
been  different  I  should  have  done  it." 

"But  if  his  point  of  view  is  different  twn/f " 

"That's  exactly  it.  It's  what  I  guessed  the  minute  I 
saw  him  yesterday.  It  is  different  now.  And  it's  because 
it's  different  now  that  I  was  anxious  not  to— not  to  leave 
the  door  open  to  him,  as  it  were,  a  minute  longer  than  I 
could  help." 

"Nor  to  leave  it  open  to  yoursdf.  Wasn't  that  in  it, 
too? — even  if  no  more  than  subconsciously." 

She  drew  herself  up,  though  her  look  and  her  tone 
touched  him.  "That's  cruel.  I  didn't  expect  it  of  ycju. 
If  I'm  shutting  doors  that  have  been  open  to  myself,  it's 
only  becatise  I'm  groping  to  find  the  worthiest  way.  That 
you  should  taunt  me  with  that — " 

"But  I  don't  taunt  you  with  anything,"  he  cried,  pas- 
sionately. "I'm  only  afraid  that  you  don't  recognize 
your  own  motives.  If  you  can't  love  me  as  a  man,  it 
means  that  you  can't  love  me  at  all.  If  you  can't  love  me 
as — as — as" — he  struggled  with  himself,  but  the  words 
were  beyond  his  control — "as  you  loved  the  others — " 

"Stop!"  She  drew  away  from  him,  right  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  "You  offend  me,"  she  declared, 
from  a  distance.  "You  beat  me  down  again  after 
having  raised  me  up.  If  you  kneiw  how  hard  the 
struggle  is  for  me — " 

He  remained  where  he  was,  by  the  window.  "What 
strug^e,  Qorinda?" 

"Between  what  you  call — what  you  call,  in  your  lan- 
guage of  religion,  the  flesh  and  the  q>irit — " 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

f  J^u/  r*T^  *«  spirit  whUe  Malcolm  Giant  is 

Owu^da.    I'm  a  «m.  with  a  man's  pMdons  and^: 

She  threw  her  hands  apart  with  a  fatalistic  gesture. 
J:'  ir  *"  */""**  °^  *^*-    ^  thought-I  thought  I 

^^e^r"*?:^'*;   Ky«''veonlydn.ggedm:out 
of  the  fire  to  pun  me  back  into  it  again—" 
"WeU,  what  then?" 

tn  'Zl!S/  "^^''*-  "*  '^~"  ^«*  ^«  J^Pt  that  thought 
to  herself,  swerving  oflE  to  another.  'Aren't  your  old 
Chun*  leg^<b  full  of  tales  of  sinful  women-w<Ln  hke 
Thais  and  Pelagia^-won  back  from  their  wicked  Uves  by 
hoty  men,  whan  they've  followed  and  imitated—?" 
He  ahnost  shouted.    "But  I'm  not  a  holy  man,  Clorinda 

w<^r^  *  ''"^  '^^     "Any  n«m?-^d  any 

"Yes,  any  man  and  any  woman." 

■niwe  was  a  repetition  of  her  fatalistic  gesture.  She 
studied  him  too.  with  a  sad  haU-smile,  her  head  slightly  to 

Ti  "!.■....*  "^^^  ""^^^  *  resolution  that  she  said 
at  last:  Very  well,  then;  here  I  am-for  you  to  do  with 
s^  you  hke."  With  the  woids  she  advanced  toward  him. 
slowly,  meekly,  her  hands  behind  her  b«dc 

Whoi,  some  fifteen  minutes  later.  Bainbridge  came 
down  the  stau^,  he  heard  voio«  in  the  dining-nxm.  The 
bass  was  that  of  Hindmaish. 

«J'!w.*'!^*\**^  fruit-knife,  and  that's  the  fish-knife 
and  that  s  the  butter-kmie."    There  was  a  sound  of  the 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


apron.  em«ge  into  the  drclt  of  the  dining^ SrSfd 
pynence.    i  u  learn  you  in  taime  " 

Your  nyme's  Pansy,  isn't  it?" 
.'.'^'  ^'"  ^^^  "*sponse  came  timidly 

I  ^     „  ^  *  ^"^  °y°'^:  "«*  y°«  needn't  sye  sir  to  n,*. 
Just  call  me  Mr.  Hindmaish.    Didn't^  n^-T^- 
before?"  '-'««o".    i^on  i  you  never  Uve  out 

^No,  sir-no.  Mr.  Hiad«a«b-^y  with  Miss  Kg- 
"Oh,  weU;  you'll  soon  pick  it  up.    Pytience  '11  do  it  T 

L?tw  'tJ^°''  ''*■'  *^  *8y»«-   That's  the^S 
and  that  the  butter-knife  ..."  ' 

f^lff  ^•^^'^^  ^''^  ^  *e  cue,  Bainbridee  went 
fc^  to  p:d.  up  his  hat  and  overcoat  and  teT 


CHAPTER  XVI 

RSS^St?^^  r^  to  dine  . 
on  leaving  Mrs  CwS^.^   •   .^^^  ^"^^'  B^inbridge. 

decided  tf  fi«"t  hft^si'T  ir  """^r  ^^--' 

Street.  The  lashing  c^  thSh  ^  ^'^  Sixty-ninth 
b«™ing  cheeks:  in  tJe^e^e  r**,-"^  ?***^  *°  ^ 
fierce  exdting  j^y  wS  the  L^.JTi''"^  of  fur,  with  a 
paeons  witwi  ^        «»«>terpart  to  the  struggle  of 

pHS'h^i'LTo:"^^ :r  :^^st  ^^ «.. 

Vehicles  were  few  h,,*  ^Z.^  venturesome  as  he. 
of  them  d<^tlti^'5^'?^!7«'y  -«y.  «os^ 
""stling  with  the  «^^^^  tt  .  ^^  ^""^  to  his  own  in 

•VonedstLts  an*  J^ht?he  k"^:^*^  ^^^  *«  ««- 
with  a  shrap^r^^*  InH  "J"*^  P^**^  «>e  face 

in  the  debased  Engh^^f  ttv  "^^  "^^  ^'^  8lee 
jaded  and  broken?tfer^Id  fSnT^^""'"-"^"'  '»««' 
on  their  shoulders  S^d  t  ^^^  ^*  "^"^ 
his  huge  bulk  to  tl^e  o^t^f  t^e^  "  '^'"*°^  °PP°«d 
of  Fifth  Avenue  the  S  of  fl^^?*^*"'  °°  '^«'  ^^^ 
tme,  and  books  rf^STnifJ  T'  P"*^'  "'''  f™^' 
jewels  behind  ^vS  "^^  **«^««*  the  drifts  like 

ObecurelyBaiabridgefo,mdhimselfcomfarted.   Bodily 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


every  point  of  the  CpT  STd^^T!  "I!"^ '"™ 
above  him,  and  m  (mm^^  •,  "T"  ^™"  *•'"  «»f» 
his  i'^t^^^^^^r-'"^'^^^^^^  beneath 

seemed  to^  to  no  »St  ^  '  °^'^°"  ^"^  '' 
ove.  into  alllSet.rS't  ^'  ^^^  T^'  ^^ 
were  allowal  to  tvvv-„«  "«!  sea,  tfte  rapids  of  Niagara 
fires  aTthTi^'T^  ZI^JT  ^  "^^  ^--^  *he 

o^y  «o  r«md  aTd  ^^^  ytTi'^^.t'-  "-^'^ 
and  no  overflow     On»  ♦».      u7  '  '"*''  "°  'ssue 

thought;  C  onlyt^S^f^,^  ^^^  ^I,-°'h« 
-other  hope  and  sfranSf  lotJ  m^S  itXtT^'^ 
Picion  ahnost  as  soon  as  he  knew  it  3^  i  *^ 

picion  into  jealousy    ^d  IST^  ^  '°^^'  ^"^  «^s- 

speots  the  most  desperate,  d^^tir^*'  ^"^  «  «-«  r^ 

have  reiect^ttt  ^SeJ"  N  '^  ''^  """^ 
cent-defiled!    These  we^^.  .  Noble-magnifi. 

her;  but  they  S^'^L  1?^  '  *^  "^^^^^  ^ 
each  other  to  bTS  of^.'  1  ^  T^  *°°  ''"^"^  ^ 
which  could  he  «t^?  cI^M^^  ?f^^-  ^d  yet 
Could  he  not  W^L  "^^  "^  *«n  be  retracted? 

find  them'^^^uS^^  ^^TZT^^^T:  T  ^"'^ 
her  slave  or  her  saviomTwoJut;,  t*°  t  u^  ^""^  °' 
tioa?  Or  should  he^Snse?Sli^T^'^'^"»P- 
list  of  lovers  whiVwiT^  v'^''  only  one  more  on  a 

him  to'S  I^^LloT^""  °'  "^  ^^"^  ^^^ 
The  stonn  did  not  answer  these  questions;  but  it  sul> 

324 


Ui 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


dued,  and  in  a  neasuie  sonth-j  »u 

he  put  th«n  to  iTS^*^*^  "«  «««»«»  wHh  vrhich 

ninS'^'Lt.^ri"^''*^'"  ''°^  '•"  Sixty, 
notice  that  he  Z  i^T^^'^  ^  ^"aie  was  quick  to 
shouldn't  haS  ^'Sf  «°r^<?  '*%-d  '  "■  Y^ 
«»nme„ted.  an«oudy    i'^e^?^*  »?«  this."  she 
near  the  library  &-•  '•«/.,!.     '^    '  «»nfortabIe  chair 
up  so  thatT^'b,^  Z/ZtT  '*^'=  ^^^ 
limousine."    Both  the^^T^  ^T  y°"  «  the  big 
eight  and  a  girl  of  fi^ tSfSLT*  ^'^  ^^'  <"  ^V  °f 
Playixxm,  at  the  top^f  ^*  ^l.'™'^  ''"'^  *°  their 
^dge  n,  h,  have^hf  ^.h^i^J^-  that  Bain- 

Then  you  don't  look  it     T  „«.        * 
sought  for  a  ^-orti-"so  stL^  ""^  '^'^  y°"  "^''--he 

fi^eS"  'Ttr^'^n^^,^''^  ^  out  in  a  sto™ 
it.  to  her  at  least,    iw^   ^^"^'^  *  "^"^  *>«ast  of 

shcnddnothavet^ldSy^rkeS.T''^"''^''^ 
held  him.  beyond  the  ^M^Th  ^^ '"'^ ''hat  with- 

Clorinda  henilf  to  ^^^^^  ™  ""**  '*  "^^^^  '^  f<* 
ar  as  saying,  "I'm    en-'^enthf  r'^'^^^^- 
Leshe  walked  in.  ^^^  ^°°'  opened  and 

In  the  constraint  which  foUowM  tt,=„ 
ofnaive'^.     That  Magrie  £f  k1  T.^"  ^  ^«°«"t 
took  as  a  matter  of  ^"""^t  S^ff'^  ^^^«^ 
^ysogavehima,^  J^*f*  ^«  *ould  be 
P««>n8  mto  pettishness  rec»nS,^\  !^^^S«- was 


11 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

Oh,  then  1 U  leave  you  together.  LesUe  doesn't  care 
to  W  n»  around  when  he's  playing.  Do  you.  Leslie?" 
*  ^y-  y*-  «f  yott  want  to  listen."  LesUe  replied,  indif- 
S^tto  S^*"""  -ute  I  begin  to  play  Z  ^y 

"Oh,  th«  I  sha'n't  this  evening,  for  I  shall  not  be 
here.  Youll  excuse  me.  Arthur,  won't  you?  I'm  sorry 
not  to  stay;  but  since  LesUe  doesn't  want  me  I  shX^ 
|md  see  ttie  cW^  put  to  bed.  Be  sure  to  let  me  know 
If  ymx'dhke  Tufts  to  take  you  home.  Tie  sto«n  ^ 
to  be  blowmg  itself  out."  -"^uo 

K  ^11^  i°  *"  "^^^  °^  ^^"^'^  P»votte  ananged 
by  Brahms  when  he  snatched  his  hands  fiom  the  pis^ 
to^y.  abruptly.  "Arthur,  take  my  advice  and™ 

Before  thwe  was  time  for  a  response  he  was  off  on  the 
n«tentrancmg  phrase,  so  that  his  guest  had  the  oppor- 
tumty  to  turn  the  mterruption  over  in  his  mind.  Intte 
large  white^d-gold  room  only  the  electrics  nearest  the 
^were  turned  on.    Bainbridge  was  seated  where  he 

gener^placed  hmiself  when  Leslie  played,  in  a  low  ann- 
^  from  whid.  he  fa«d  the  perfomusr^^y  in  p^ 
and  could  watch  his  hands.  »"""*«. 

"I  might  take  another  man's  advice-"  he  boma  when 
his  friend  had  finished  his  selection.  ™°"®»a'«»° 

.   "And  do  it.    Not  if  he  spoke  as  sincerely  as  I'm  speak- 
mg  now-*t  least  not  in  the  case  of  nine  men  who  m«nr 
"^        Undoubtedly  there's  a  tenth  man  who-^ 
^^  Who  finds  m  marriage  ^rfiat  he's  looking  for  " 
If  he  smrt  looking  for  very  much.   But  you  would  be. 
You  re  an  ideahrt  by  profession;  and  the  man  who  takes 
aa6 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^Jfcal  into  n«rri4_^.  I  ««  ^y  „y  0^  j^^p 

"And  veiy  likely  God  does  " 
lesl' w<^  ^  *"*  "'^  °°*-    Man  doesn-t-^d  stin 
Bainbridge  Ix^an  to  perceive  that  his  ftiend  was  e„ 
deavonng  to  "get  something  over"  to  ^  Zi^J 
Vnthout  having  the  exact  channel  throuJ^wTS 
m^mngco^d  be  conveyed.    The  resdt  ,^  <:'SliS 
pMt  a  certain  exaggeration  and  brutality  and  oiT^fn 
bridge's  nothing  but  perplexity.  ^'  ^'^" 

lat^S"^  depends  on  what  a  n«n  marries  Jor,"  the 
latter  mused,  after  a  minute's  reflection. 
Palhsers  pretense  at  the  downright  exposure  of  h« 

S  "^I Z^^  "r  ''""  '"^  ^«  -PeSTn-^'cha 
^t  Imamedformoney."  The  assertion  was  foUo^ 
by  a  senes  of  any  scales  up  and  down  the  ke^S 

l«>^e  d^,^  ^^^'  ^*'-  Y°"  °«^«i  as  most 
^t^ei'^^gi^..^  for  marriage  had  <«me- 

PaUiser  again  siutched  his  hands  from  the  keys  to 

^d  th«  was  Maggie"  Bainbridge  insisted,  si^g 
aowly,  who  was  m  love  with  you— and  vou  hanaT^ 
''T*^.  Wndly  chap.  expect<rf^  fall  in^e^^  h^" 
which  m  a  way  you've  ^one- '  ^^^ 

.■^  "^^  '"^■'  <«Pl«»si«d  now  by  a  loud  wild 

SS„T  *  "T  "^*  "'^^^  ^  te4  to  di^ 
or  from  denial  to  agreement.  "«»««i, 

su^^th  r^  T  *^  "^"^  •*°  •*'"  Bainbridge  pur- 
sued, with  an  air  o  tranquillity,  "but  each  man  hL  to 
own  way  of  falling  in  love-«,d  yours  has  boTtolL  i^ 

Ma««  the  whdesomenes,  of  herS  S  £S-11^do 
337 


;!l 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

ft  justice-i»ith  an  infusion  rf  pity  for  her,  t»o-and  an 
au-round  appreciation  of  her  splendid  qualities—" 

fti  this  analysis  of  his  sUte  of  mind  Palliser  broke  in 
with  the  openmg  bars  of  a  noctume  of  Chopin's.  Hecon- 
bn,«d  it  softly  as  he  said:  "Punny,  Artht^ow  you^ 
hit  thenafl  on  the  head  about  another  man's  asini  and 
DC  altogether  off  on  your  own.  And  yet  I  suppose  it's 
natural  enough.  Doctor  can  often  prescribe  for  a  patient 
and  yet  need  some  one  else  to  do  it  for  himself  "  He 
s^ed  the  movements  of  his  hands  as  he  played  dieamUy 
See  here;  tdl  me;  what  should  you  many  for,  if  you 
ever  came  to  do  it?-which  I  hope  to  the  Lord  you  ne^ 

ILIA  jr. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  curious  tmdercnrrent  of  en- 
deavor, resembling  the  swaUed  efforts  of  spirits  to  get 
«methmg  "across.''  which  he  had  already  detected  in  h^ 
host,  Bambndge  would  have  taken  this  as  no  more  than 
^eof  the  mtnnate  abstract  questions  permissible  be- 
tween  oU  fnends.  As  it  was,  his  ^don  of  a  motive 
insielled  mm  to  answer  warily: 

"I  suppose  that  when  I  marry  it  will  be  in  fulfil- 
ment of  a  general  law.  Pew  people  know  tuky  they 
many.  The  tmie  for  it  oomes-«nd  they  do  it.  One 
man  says  It  s  for  love,  and  another  that  it's  because  he 
wants  a  home — "  •«— -=»  *« 

"But  I'm  asking  what  you'd  say?" 

h«^l5!^^'^.?S'  *»  '^  Piaiti,  though  against  what 
he  4dnt  know.    "Haven't  I  told  you  that  aheady?" 

You  ve  said  that  it  would  be  in  fulfihnent  of  a  law 
S^?"'**^  yott  fulfil  the  law  at  one  time  more  than 
'*  Because  there  comes  a  day  when  Nature—" 
"Just  so.    That's  where  I  wanted  to  bring  you.    Good 

238 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

dd  Nature  baits  her  hook.  But  the  bait  tunis  out  to  be  a 
bit  of  dry  feather,  while  the  hook  goes  into  your  gilb  for 
life.  See?"  He  swayed  genUy  to  Chopin's  sannolent 
phrases.  "^Tise  old  party.  Nature  is.  No  one  knom 
better  than  herself  that  if  she  didn't  dazzle  the  eyes  with 
an  artificial  fly  she'd  never  get  the  systematic  reproduc- 
tjon  of  the  species.    But— and  this  is  my  point— you're 

too  good  to  be  used  like  that.  You're  meant  for  other 
things." 

The  nocturne  was  still  singing  its  soothing  way  as  Bain- 
bridge  said:  "Why  are  you  giving  me  this  infonnation 
now?    Have  you  been— hearing  anything?" 

"I've  been  hearing  enough  to  make  one  exception  to 
what  I've  just  said.  As  I  remember  telling  you  once 
before,  there  is  a  nice  girl — " 

Bainbridge's  sudden  movement  was  one  of  irritation. 
"Please  don't  go  on  with  that." 

"WeU,  she's  all  right.  She  wouldn't  be  a— a  shock  to 
your  parishioners.  But"— he  bent  low  over  the  keyboard, 
wringing  out  the  theme  with  passionate  intensity— "but 
many  any  one  else — " 

"Though  he  left  the  sentence  unfinished,a  sharp,  nervous, 
aching  chord  or  two  enabled  him  to  convey  the  imprest 
sion  of  something  broken  oflf,  with  pain  and  disiUusion  as 
the  sequel.  Bainbridge's  chin  rested  on  the  back  of  his 
clasped  hands,  while  his  thoughts  were  thrown  back  upon 
himself. 

"What  do  you  mean  by— by  a  shock  to  my  parishion- 
ers?" 

"Oh,  weU,  it's  always  a  shock  to  people  when  their 
clergyman  gets  married." 

The  echo  here  of  Oorinda's  feeling  of  the  afternoon  was 
startling.  "Why?"  he  asked,  blankly.  "Is  there  a  dif- 
339 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


;]    !«n 


ference  between  the  tnamase  o£  a  ol»™— 

any  other  man?"     ^^**  **  *  «'*'n™M»  «nd  that  of 

^C"    H^Sd^lS'i"^  m  the  celibacy  S 

It-it  brings  E^    Hein!^.'!  *°  '^"'^  P^^PJ^- 
^^^„   "ss  mmaown.    He  s  never  the  same  to  us  after- 

It's  in  human  nature^peopfe  't^^f  "!^i°'^  ^y- 
deiKmaa  at  aU  they  wan"  tK  ^  ""^"^^  °^  « 
than  their  own.  He^sS  fo^^eSTtt'^''^^''- 
to  work  up  to."  ^°^  they're  trying 

"And  is  there  anything  hieher  than   = 
nurriagg,,,  ^  ^^^^  *™"  *  consecrated 

than  thalT^e  M  iTh.!??  '^"^'^K  '''^ 
nw.  frr^  ~.  ™  ^«<*'  as  the  wistful,  climbim?  meloH,, 
rose  firem  one  straining  niteh  tn  o««*u        ^  melody 

JNo,  but  we're  on  the  wav     Tho*--  •  ^    . 
We're  like  peonle  b^.w        ^"    ^^^^  3^  the  point. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


sdves.  so  that  he  can  d,«w  tt,  wh««.  »-.        • 
<*»»Tnan  who's  only  joe^^I„    ..!*  "  ««*•«    The 

i«n.  he's  hanfly  a  JJS  a^  ^  V  "**  °' "*- 
the  repeated  theme  STaW  to  P"/*^*^*  "f 
wh«  it  broke  off  suddX^inTSn?  J^-.  '**  ''^^ 
°i«de  of  the  same  dav  m  ™,™.  •  *^  '^-    "^  he's 

and  passions,  we  ^ty^t^  '"*.  **  ^  °«^ 
we  don't  want  the  fact  oto^^I?  ^  '*•  ^*  ""y  «te, 
to  a^te  him  wiZ^S'St^  "m^r'".*^« 
our  seeing  him  just  as  we  see  a^^;^  **'*' "^'*' °n 
and."  he  quotS^^Vh^'^S"*"' -an  he-he  falls; 

never  to  rise  again  "  '  ^®  **"^  ''^'e  Ludfer. 

in  atS«"i*tf  pf^r'Pf «»  ^  <^  away 
tion.  if  not  pea«=.  t^^t  ^'u'T^'f^  ^^ 
he  rose  and  moved  awavmir„7ir  ^  «~*°  Pal* 
was  £a«>  a  distaS  S'he  1^^^^^  "J  "^^t.  It 
now  swinging  idly  on  the  W^?i?  f"^  ''^°  w« 

S'^"— -^t^t^rCy^ 

P^whr  hTfe^ritShS^  ^^  *^  °^  «»« 
speaking  he  took  ouri  d!t!l*^.1Pr*  "*•  before 
^^■t  light.  Again  bSS^^^I^^-^  ^* 
that  he  wished  to  amvev  ^JT^^  *^  anpression 

His  manner  betiay^^  «SS^  v^°"*  "^^^  »*• 
toseem  cool.  ««tenient  chiefly  by  its  effort 

"I've  nothing  but  this  up  mv  sle««.  „ij  i.      .. 
dared  at  last:  "that  if  you  W,!^       '  ^  ^^'    ^^  ^e- 
nice  girl  I've  «femrf  tofToTZv   "^  one  but-but  the 
-cWcaait-.t'^°^^^-:i--^ 

Bain-oridgegathe^dan^h.  inner  «««^^,,^. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


"  Are  your— are  you  tfaiiikiag  of— of  any  one  in  particulap-- 
lAiea  you  say  that?" 

Deliberately  PaUiser  took  oat  his  match-box  and  struck 
a  light.  The  cigarette  was  between  his  lips  as  he  said,  in- 
distinctly, and  yet  in  a  way  to  be  quite  articulate:  "I'm 
thinking  of  wbaX  I've  said.  You  could  make  a  marriage 
that  wouldn't  be  a  shock  to  us.  Any  other  marriage 
would — would  turn  you  into  nothing  but  a  man." 

This  second  echo  of  Qorinda's  thought  was  like  the 
idiip-lash  of  exasperatipn.  "But,  good  Ood,  Lesliel"  he 
cried  out,  "I  am  nothing  but  a  man!" 

Palliser  smiled.  "Oh  no,  Arthur.  You're  a  good  deal 
more  than  a  man,  as  men  are  known  to  ns.  To  a  lot  of 
us  you've  beeti — the  guide  gcnng  on  before  the  dimber. 
You've  meant  so  much  to  us  in  that  capacity  that  we 
want  to  keep  you  there.  It  makes  us  the  more  sure  that 
we  ourselves  shall  go  upward." 

"And  admitting  for  the  moment  that  that's  so,  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  that  just  because  I  marry — ?" 

"Yes;  to  some  extent,  just  because  you  marry.  Rightly 
or  wrongly,  we've  lifted  you  toward  the  sphere  where 
they  neither  many  nor  are  given  in  marri^ie,  but — I 
think  I've  got  the  words  of  the  Bible — but  are  as  the 
angels  of  God.  You're  one  of  the  men-^here  have  been 
a  good  many  of  them  in  the  world  at  oae  time  or  another — 
who  come  to  us  as  interpreters  of  a  life  purer  than  our 
own.  The  minute  you  marry  you  come  down  into  our 
life;  and  whoi  you  do  you  can't  help  us  any  vaote. 
It  seems  to  me,  Arthur,  that  you've  reached  a  point 
where  you  must  choose  between  bong  the  guide  or  the 
climber — " 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,  hasn't  this  question  been  fought 
out  long  ago?  and  hasn't  the  whcde  potion  of  Christen- 
33a 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


<km  to  whidi  we  betong  admitted  that  a  married 
dagy—i" 

"Is  better  than  a  corrupt  one;  yes;  but  it  hasn't  ad- 
mitted more  than  that.  With  a  man  lilce  you  there's  no 
such  question;  and  so — " 

"And  so,  to  gratify  a  fancy  I  must  become  what  Kipling 
calls  a  plaster  saint — " 

"Oh,  it's  deeper  than  a  fancy.  You  wouldn't  find  the 
largest  churches  of  Bast  and  West  maldng  it  an  essential 
if  it  didn't  respond  to  a  demand  within  the  htunan  heart. 
When  you've  said  all  you  can  for  marriage,  it  remains 
physiciU,  material,  of  the  earth  earthy,  and  only  good 
enough  for  the  oonmion  man.  I've  often  thought  that  a 
large  part  of  the  flabbiness  of  Protestantism,  and  of  its 
economic  wastefulness,  comes  from  the  fact  that  we've  so 
few  guides  going  on  above  us,  and  a  lot  of  blind  leaders 
of  the  blind  struggling  along  in  the  mass.  Are  you  going 
to  stay  up  or  aje  you  coming  down?  That's  the  choice 
before  you." 

Bainbridge  took  a  step  forward,  out  of  the  obscurity  in 
which  for  some  minutes  he  had  kept  himself.  In  his 
haggard  eyes  there  was  an  expression  that  might  have 
passed  as  one  of  curiosity.  "And  are  you  saying  all  this, 
Leslie,  from  preference  for  an  unmarried  clergy — ?" 

"That's  one  reason— quite  anoerely,"  Palliser  hastened 
±0  interpose. 

"Or  have  you  any  other  object?" 

Leslie  gazed  at  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigarette.  "What 
other  object  could  I  have?" 

"God  alone  knows." 

Palliser  answered  with  unusual  distinctness  of  utter- 
ance, spacing  his  words  apart.  "Well — Arthur — God 
alone — does  know;  and  I  propose  that — God  alone — shall 

i6  333 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

s^'t  pSLfts  t^T:  stsr J^  "^ 

w«y,  both  true  «id«n^"        "^  betog.  b  a  senend 

"•^•s  i:;^;*'?''*:'  ^  <«-  *«» «» 


CHAPTER  XVn 

POR  a  man  as  kind  as  the  assistant  meter  erf  «!*  xjr 

JJ^  ««et,  c^npeued  her.  L  sS  S<rr^*"2 

brought «eacaUfi:?'„^°^^'72lf"  **> 
hapD"  dispensation.  Do  rit  dS^  l^  ■\^'^^  * 
«d  sofa  he  had  last  ocn,™vJ?^'  u  ^*  P^*«^  *«  *»» 

Palliser.  "ra  tSj  SS^Sr^'^ft  ^S'l"*' '*^' 
when  Josephetta  brin^el^"        ^^  convenient 

'No  tea  for  me."  he  lx«ed.  hurriedly. 

No?    Then  well  just  talk.    I  ZTr^^  i 
with  my  deiKyman   T^   ^  «><rftei  long  to  talk 

««n«of  thelS^e  LT^^r,?^*  P*^'  '^ 
in  «ligion  than  t^J^^T  ^^  "^  "*««^ 
it  iras  considered  Z^I^A^^T  '"^  »  ««»  when 
now  .  .  (VeL^^T^  ^"^^  ***  °«*tion  it;  but 
bdag  for VW  S^^r  T^  •*  *^ '^  ««  «»ne 

-yc«what^.rrte^rh^-l,<-^. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


m 


«to»e  for  little  Pii^  Vra^TTS™ Tu'^  '^*''  •«« 
3W  about  it.  onlTLTrLH  ♦    *''*  **'*  '^««  to 

*«>IA>«  of  othOT  like  that  IiZ^v."  ■•  •  ^"  "'"'y 
tnem.  You're  either  like  tL*  JT^ .  ^  **°  t  force 
Jwaysthinlc.   AnTwhtl^^Kri^^*' ^ 

My  present  maid  is  quite  ^T^^       ,^'^ 

Josephetta  is  her  namf  i  Z£^^  "^  '"'^■ 
twi^,  now  could  I?  Uyi^ZtJlZ^,'^^ 
having  nothing  but  her^^T  '  iT  r!  7°^ 
moreoftheworldlshouldn^hl?  ,,'  '  •  •  ^  Id  known 
Mberty;   but  I  hadJTa  tti-S"     T^^^^^^'^'^'^b 

thought-nottheXrt^S^T^,*^"  '**^  of  « 
But  now  that  it's  aSl^L^T°'»  thought  .... 

'^^J.bands  ati^So^^^^^ -i.fansy  in  such- 

-^wSriiS^y^f^  ^  not  accomplished 
«>aUy  could  take  ^^^t^^.!LTf  timef-but  she 

done  for  Pansy  m^  ^*  ^t^  ^"^  '^bat  had  been 

...      .  ^^'  nuae,  now  oouldn  t  s)i»?    t*  i.  j  .   -"«-" 

POMtave  inspimtion.  her  s««tJn  If^  ^  had  been  a 
BainbridgeS^iJj;^'^    "^.the  nmtter  to  Mr. 

hethinkMr..ciSefa^tTr^*^°°-  °^*>'* 
•luaint  for  anything^  Sl^^  ««1  wasn't  Edith  too 
Holbein  or  L;^^^%*^bng  child  painted  by 

t°  be  coming  ina^TT"  ^*  P^  "^'e  «ally  seemed 
nowadays  ^p^J'^jf'^  f""  ^  ^ew^ 
they  were,  as  J^^Z^  ^^  *«  ^"^Y  the  plainer 

a  distinction.  soSgl£  ^TT  "".^"^  ''"^*« 
s  woK^  every  one  couldn't  afford 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


P«'ved  to  be.  wWch  made  to  Z  ™1^  f^  ***«**«> 
^Wy  thought    TT.eZL^^'rr,^^'^""''^ 

"*«  was  softened  and  ^,Z5    ^  u^*^  ^°*-    But 

««t  Pansy',  downfrSgt?SS":J:^1''?°'-«'but 
she.  Mi«,  Higgi^.  could  ^p«l^.  ^^-    ^  ""^  «»«. 

l»««ht  her  into  the  company  of  W  ^  *  °»f  <T  °°»  '* 
She  rattled  on  so  fast  JT »>?  .  ■  *f?»8"^ed  visitor. 
Bainbridge  had  no^XZ^t^^T""'^'^' 
'or  his  opportunity  Wh^tlTu  1?''^  ^"  ""*' '«'*<* 
Wand  inJo^^S-  ot^ ^  h«n  chiefly  was  the 
•nces  did  so  m^  m£l^^  ^^  "^"^  '''^■ 
and  to  direct  fates  ^"by^^T  "' ""^""^ 
her  oracles  were  writtenlL;  i!!^  ^^"^  «>  ''hich 
Jaad,  to  be^J*^^  '^^"^  throughout  the 

than  any  P^ZZt^^  tT  ^"^  *«««« 
«>te«hange  of  dipCtir^""lr^  »ore  than  an 
"nfluence  she  rous«loQ^!?!^-  ff  *  ""y^^^V  and  an 
««ted  the  yo^d^S^  ^  "^"^  ^^-  She 
the  respectable.  L^S^f  **  "^f^  ^d  locked 

away  from  her  Mr.  Searie,  aS^^!^/^/'^** 
Maggie  Palliser  to  a  sense  rrf  ^  ^^f^ed  Leshe  and 
had  P«.bably  so,S  her^1.^,r"*f  "^*^«'  *« 
the  federated  States;  an^  Kh  '^^  ^''""^h  all 
goddess,  no  panth«4sTh^dS^^t\  '  °°  ''^^"« 
t«ve.  h««.e.  lad,  dre^  ^  ^^  ^^  --.  tal^ 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

•«^.  .ad ey«lito.p«ro* empty  chin,  plate..  Th«e 

^t^S^'^f.f!^  S^"*-"*"  •*«*  J«r.  and  not  much 
thatWMrinkter.  That  little  wi.  in  her  manner,  whkh 
WM  too  Ingratiating  for  dncerity,  and  in  the  changeleH 
•mUeof  her  long.  thin.  ««ewhat  p«)gaathic  mouS^ 
Do  you  recognize  this?" 
He  never  «juite  knew  how  he  amie  to  whip  fiom  hi. 
podcet  a  copy  of  the  journal  to  which  he  believed  hi. 
hort«s  to  be  a  contributor,  and  to  lay  a  certain  pa«- 
paph  under  her  eye..    Hi.  mind  resumed  if  worl^ 

Zt^T^^'T^'^^^^'^^'^^-  M  he  noticed 
,anythmg  further  it  wa.  a  sUght  tendency  on  her  nde  to 

^^<.  lf^:.\""  fllmtration  of  that,  her  hands 
«ft«dto  touch  the  object  he  held  out  toward  her,  while 
•  V^^  ^  mtmiacy  with  its  contents  by  not  glanc 
mg^  the  hnes  to  which  his  finger  pointed.  Shecon^ 
hersdfwith  smihngfi«dly.  saying,  with  a  Idnd  of  wooden, 
lebearsed  nirprue:  -"^wi, 

"Why,  nor 

He  continued  to  hold  the  paper  towarf  her.  Ms  fintrer 
tappmg  the  hne  he  wished  her  to  read.  "Have  you 
looked  at  it?"  ' 

H«  pale  q^  grew  frightened,  though  the  snile  main- 
temeditsngidity.  "Why  Aould  I  look  at  it?  What  has 
it  to  do  with  me?" 

"That's  what  I  thought  you  m^ght  tell  me  " 

mean.    ReaUy.  Mr.  Bainhridge.  considering  that  you're 
my  dergymaa— "  ^  '^^ 

"Please  look  at  it  and  tdl  me  whether  or  not  vou'v* 
ever  seen  it  before."  ' 

She  leaned  forward  with  an  expression  in  which  distresa 
936 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

mlagled  with  tlw  «nu«d,  gingeriy  oonoeMioa  the  ndght 
h«veii«de  to.  child.    "I  never  have."  riMdectared. 


Without  taking  time  to  ^kiioe  at  a  line. 
"Look  again." 

She  looked  again  in  the  Mme  maaaer.    Her  n»pon«e 
was  a  sQent  shake  of  the  head.  "«Pon«e 

tJZf^  '^'"u^  conraanded,  gently.    "You  can  see  it 
better  if  >-ou  have  it  in  your  own  hands  " 

She  took  it  delicately,  as  though  it  was  K»nething  not 
quite  clean,  holding  it  between  thumb  and  second  fciger 

1 1 L"^'^  f  ■'^  '*™«"  "^  *•»*  '<"«  right,  80^ 
what  transversely.  Her  smile  was  that  of  a  pers^  lending 
herself  to  a  puzzle  or  a  parlor  trick.  "Now  what  do  I  do?" 
she  asked,  with  an  air  of  patient  bewildetment. 

Agwn  he  pointed  to  the  place.  "Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  read  that?"  ^^ 

Pot  a  halfHMscond  she  seemed  to  read.  "How  shock- 
ing!  die  commented  then.  " Such  nice  people,  too  One 
never  knows,  does  one?"  She  lifted  her  Wg,  pale,  frisht- 
ened  ey«,  with  a  look  of  bravado.  "But  what  can  /  do 
atxntt  It? 

"If  you'll  tell  me  what  you've  done  about  it  already 
1  a  explain  to  you  what  you  can  do  next." 

"I?  DOTie  about  it?"  She  turned  the  paper  over  help- 
lesdy.    "What  can  I  have  done  about  itr 

"Written  it." 

"Written  it?  Me?  Why,  reaUy,  Mr.  Bainbridge!" 
Hmnedly  she  appeared  4o  scan  the  lines,  seaniing 
tor  traces  of  her  own  craftsmanship.  "Why^-whvl 
never — "  '         ■" 

"Never  saw  that  before?" 
^e  tried  to  be  mdignant,  but  succeeded  only  in  being 

839 


Tin 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

xt  you  say  I  ve  oommitted  it  at  all-"         ^ 
1  want  you  to  8a}r  that  " 

beti.yedmy«eait*S^p!^.^-    "Say  I've 
the  puUic— ?"  ^^etyf-and  held  them  up  before 

^'£^  ^t!-"^  ""  "^"^  «>«  P««^  that 
other."    ''^'  •*  ^  «*  «J«««  them  in  the  eyes  of  «^ 

mean,  Mr.  Bainbridge?"    ^^  °"'*'^    Whatever  do  you 

'»«*«' to^tS^f""""^**-  "'tre- 
Butdidit^*oSitTou^^-  ^*««P««- 
into  the  mind  of  a^to^^T,,  .!  "^  ^""^  ««^««» 
band  toW^  tS-?^  "^  *"«»*«*•"><»  «rf  a  hus- 

tJ-y'^^  ^^^^SS"^^  ^^^  -«  -««h  When 
"Do  nB^ifT^    .     ^°y  years  as  they  have-" 

-  anothrevTS  ^^Z^JZZI^T  ^ 
the  dos«t  onmniunion?    Hasn't  «!*  !!J  ? '''^  "" 

'cmdof^^^^^^^c.us.ri.btto. 

OU,  but  when  it's  only  «  little  bit  of  fuar' 
a40 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 
yo^^diSt?""''"''   ^<^-^^^st^y.   "Then 
•"^Mwies.      I  never  said  that."  *"««««««; 

'•Why— why.  fun  for-^or  any  one." 

We  af^'t:::  ^^  W^people  who.  I  think, 
onler  t^^L^J^^  J-^-^er.  suffer  acutely,  in 

<»e  W^erinT-^       ^^'     *^*-^t  "^J 
"Did  you  caie?" 
She  strove  to  right  heiself  arain     "vt^       ,^  ■, 

^  that.  the.  Win  sir^oirf^ir^n;  s 

bytS^"      '^'*'^-»»«*«^?   What  do  you  mean 

tl**  -cftly  spS^f^/ J'..'^'**  P««  ^-Phasized 

b^S^'^^e'lr^*^'*'"   Stedaspedherhandsonher 
w^st-TTie  words  came  out  like  a  plea 

lie  ^?-  T^^^^  •^*  •*  •"«''*  «««»«  my  duty  " 
The  atch  m  her  breath  amounted  to  a  sob     "Y^, 

«iuty  to  hunt  down  a  poor,  friendless  woci^ho-?^"" 
»4i 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"YcM'd  only  be  a  poor,  friendless  woman  when  you'd 
put  yourself  outside  the  range  of  friendship.  I  don't  con- 
«der  you've  done  so  as  yet.  As  I've  already  said,  people 
have  been  kind  to  you.  The  last  time  I  was  in  this  room 
rt  was  crowded  with  the  most  important  people  in  New 
York  social  life  who  had  no  other  motive  in  coming  than 
to  let  you  see  they  cared  for  you.  I've  Uttle  hesitation  in 
saymgihat  if  yon  were  in  trouble  or  need  I  could  go  out 
among  the  families  of  St.  Maiy  Magdalen's  and  in  two 
hours  raise  a  sum  that  would  take  care  of  you  for  life." 

The  tears  were  flowing  freely  as  she  said,  "That  wouldn't 
be  on  my  account;  it  would  be  on  yours." 

"Let  us  say  that  it  would  be  on  account  of  both  of  us 
The  fact  remains  that  you've  been  holding  up  to  ridicule 
or  cashgation  those  who've  been  well  disposed  toward 
you,  who've  welcomed  you  to  their  houses  when  you  had 
nothing  to  offer  them  in  exchange—" 

Genuine  an^  made  the  pallid  personality  flame  into 
hfe.  She  grasped  the  aims  of  her  chair,  her  long-waisted 
figure  stifiening  and  straining  forward,  the  voice  growing 
shnUandmqwrative.  "What  do  you  know?  Who's  been 
telling  you  about  me?" 

"No  one's  been  telling  me  about  you.  Miss  Higgins. 
What  I  know  I  know  merdy  through  the  perf omumce  of 
my  duty.  What's  more  than  that.  I  come  here  not  as  an 
•ccMser,  but  as  your  friend.    If  you'd  trust  me— " 

"TVust  you,  when  you  threaten  to  have  me  turned  out 
of  every  house  in  New  York?  Why,  man.  it's— it's"— 
the  dedantion  came  out  because  she  couldn't  keep  it 
Uck— "  it's  aU  I've  got  to  live  <m." 

He  ignored  this  confession  to  say,  quietly:   "I  (fidn't 
»y  turned  out.  I  said  kept  out.    There's  a  difEerence. 
And  that  I  said  only  in  case  you  didn't  trust  me." 
»4» 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"But  wfaat's  the  good  of  trusting  you — now?" 
"This  good,  that  I  could  make  things  easy  £«•  you  by 
•howing  you  how  to  do  right." 

She  began  to  mop  her  eyes  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  "bo 
right  by  going  to  people  like  LesUe  and  Maggie  Palliser, 
and  telling  them  I  didn't  know  anything  about  th6n— '  ' 

He  considered  this  admission.  "If  you  didn't  know 
anything  about  them—" 

aie  seemed  to  gather  all  her  forces  of  avowal  and  indig- 
nation together  in  one  exasperated  cry.  "/  didn't/  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  them-^and  I  didn't  care  I 
just  guessed.  It's  practically  aU  I  ever  do.  I'm  paid  for 
guessing;  and  nLie  times  out  of  ten  I  guess  right.  Now 
you  know  it  all." 

He  feU  back  into  the  depths  of  the  red  sofa,  too  amazed 
to  speak.  "Do  you  reaUy  want  me  to  believe—?"  he 
b^an  when  he  had  grasped  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  have  to  earn  a  living,  and 
that  I've  got  nothing  to  earn  it  on  but  my  footing  in 
society.  K  you  take  that  away  from  me  you  reduce  me 
to  beggary.    So  there!" 

As  she  threw  back  her  head,  with  a  daring  which  the 
mask  erf  smiling  inefifectuality  concealed,  she  was  more 
distinctly  a  living  human  being  than  he  had  hitherto 
thought  possible.  Curiously  enough,  too,  he  began  to 
feel  toward  her  a  creeping  sympathy  in  which  there  was 
an  element  ahnost  of  respect.  "Then  I  understand  you 
to  say  that  in  what  you  write  you  don't  pretend  to  know 
tha  facts—" 

"Hardly  ever,"  she  threw  in,  with  an  audacity  not 
without  a  dash  of  tears.  "The  ordinary  American  reader 
wants  something  qricy.  He  doesn't  care  irtiether  it's  tn» 
or  not." 

M3 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


"Nor  you  either?" 
"Whea  I  hit  the  ntohaM*  r-, 
*^-    Noonee^S:£^Jl^,«««K«>.    If.jurt 

"But  the«'.^  i£  !LT*  ^  *^-" 
P««ntca«y_'      *^*^'***««^ta»k;  and  in  the 

her  temper-"  -'«=™seives.    With  his  looks  and 

"aai  it  TOs  only  guesswork." 
getlS:^"^  "^  •  ^-    Y-Puttwoandt^t^ 

caned  her-"         ^^  awk-eyed  lady,  I  think  you 
"No,  that  was  a  little  more."    Mow  fi,.*  u 

He  divmed,  ii^deed.  on  her  uflrc  M^iTr^-^^  *°  «i"  <»»• 
concealments  ^Un^Zi^i^  '*'*'  «  Se**"*  rid  of 

aU  human  S^^^eSd't"*"^,'^* '^^  to 
«lark.    "Tt^lL^^^!Sr^**'f'''«lking  along  in  the 

"I'd  seen  S^i^t^  ^  ^f^^"    •^t.^P^^t^dTLgeriy. 

things  go  he«TNt^  1^^^-^^^  - 
— ti  i^-_  */*°"Mhtgiveher.name— 


■11'  seemed  to  him  that  Kb  .._  f    J^ 
tunity.     "Exactir   t£w^I^.^'*''W)aN 
P-tly  fcr    .VOU.4.     iTwW  P^*-     You  see  it 

you  shouki  try  to  do  all  rLl  L1  ?^  *^*^' 
to  some  extent  at  leJTo^^'  ^  >*  »-  you  shield, 
^_  •oc«stome^t^'2;,!V^7^  Who's  on  t^e  staj 
hesitation  in  deliverii^j^^'  ^  y***   '«'^«  ««» 

"44 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


«°ne  in  for^C^t^-.^^  Pf»r  has  never 

in  ffle;  b«t  that  couldn't  ha^^^"^  "^^  '*  ^'* 
seen  of  New  York  ThereW.^^,.^'  '"*  "°  '  '^ 
J^>«.  You  know  80  muTrf  whir* ''''^^'*°^'^'**«« 
best.   It^O^:^:^^^^'-^^-^ 

The  first  was  ak^dTJ^!^^  '^  *°  *^  »«»«*• 
this  creatT^d^feSr^^,*"  ^«  <» 
nature  of  the  m^^^\J^  T^.'^  °^  «»« 
-ui  dogged  his  ^Si  l^^^  ^,  ^^his  eyes 
helpless  feeling  <rf  his  wav T^^^efh  i^  him  to  a 
third.  whilte.thimSS^'"^'"'^-  ^ythe 
his  comer  of  tte  X^^t^^*,*'^""'^*''  ^ 

that,  either-not  for  sure     l7  ™«  ^T  ^^«  '*'^* 
saw  him  twice"  ^t  was  just  a  coincidence.    I 

*4S 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^^  asking  hoanriy  ^  with  difficulty:  "T^ri^^^ 

for^  yjS'^  *^y  ^^^  *°=*««  *»  ten.  not  merely 
for  tlie  sake  of  purging  her  soul  of  its  secrets.  b^Z 

^a^*^"™'  ^'  ^  "^  wickedne^r^So^ti 

that  T  .i,™,M  fc       ,:  °*°*'  crtraorduiary  thing  > 

^  1?     t  "^^^  ^<^  by  on  both  oStTi' 
was  commg  home  from  dining  with  the  W«ans.  ^ ' 

fl^  W.  because  it's  a  mere  step  from  hetts-and  that's 
how  rt  happened."  She  paused,  not  only  for  breath^ 
to  dash  away  a  tear  or  two,  and  also  to  enjoy  thelffert 
she  was  producing.  "The  &.t  time-wff  I  h«S^ 
ttoughtanytiu^ofit.  I  knew  they  we™  all  g^^t  S 
tog^er,  and  that  Maggie  and  Clorinda  weH  iS^S 
^^.  and  so   ...  It  just  occmred  to  me  that  tf 

to  d^r*l*?  '°°''  ''^  '  scandal-but  itW  ta  me 
to  do  that-and  I  sunply  let  it  pas»-keeping  ii  only  fa 
^  ba^  of  my  rmnd  in  case  .  .  .  But  ^s^S^ 
that  was  a  month  or  two  later-and  it  must  have  been 
qmte^  midnight-weU,  I  must  say  I  ^h^r^u^ 

«ie  ?he-sT  *,!ff^  "°^*^'  °°*  ^"^  Clorfada's 
s^.  Shes  always  been  too  heavenly  to  m«^^d  it's 
noanngto  me  what  people  are  in  their  private  life  I'm 
v«Trhb«al  hke  that;  it's  in  me  to  be  so.  And  if  I  ha^.^ 
proved  It  for  myself,  as  you  might  say-"  ""^'■^* 
..followed  her  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  r^t. 

of  "^',T^'~^  *  '^^■"   ^^  H^Kins's  enjoyment 

of  her  ta^  became  more  manifest  as  it  went  on.    ^y 

one  who  knows  me  knows  I  never  pry  into  what  doesn't 

S46 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

«»c«n  me;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  that  I  wanted  to  be  in 
a  poaticn  to  defend  Qwinda,  if  ever  her  name  came  up 
I  shouldn't  have  done  it" 

"What  did  you  do?" 

She  grew  confidential.  "Wefl,  there's  no  reason  ythv  I 
shoiildn't  teU  you.  Mr.  Bainbridge.    You're  a  deigynm, 

and  you  have  your  own  way  of  finding  out  things,  just  as 
much  as  I  have.  If  you  didn't  have  you  wouldn't  have 
found  out  about  me,  though  how  you  did  ..  .  But  I've 
nothing  to  conceal,  as  I  think  you  must  see.  .  .  .  Why 
I  went  straight  to  the  nearest  druggist's  and  rang  up 
Maggie's  house  in  Sixty-ninth  Street,  before  he  could  get 
ttere.  I  said  I  was  a  stenographer  at  the  rooms  of  the 
Nabonal  Economic  Society,  working  late-and  couM 

ttey  tell  me  if  Mr.  PaUiser  was  in,  or  if  not  where  he  could 
be  found,  as  it  was  about  a  series  of  lectures.  It  was  a 
man  who  answered,  a  footman  I  suppoee,  and  he  said  if 
I  d  hold  the  line  he'd  consult  Mrs.  Palliser.  When  he 
came  back  he  said  that  Mr.  Palliser  was  spending  the 
evemng  at  the  New  Netherlands  Qub-and  so  I  put  two 
and  two  together.  I  shouldn't  have  done  it,"  she  con- 
tmued,  rapidly,  terrified  by  her  visitor's  expression  "if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Qorinda's  sake.  I  was  so  anxious  to 
defend  her."  It  was  still  Bainbridge's  expression  that 
sent  her  lushing  on.  "Oh,  it's  awful.  New  York  is  1  We're 
an  corrupt.  I  don't  know  what's  to  became  of  us.  It's 
hke  the  last  days  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Such  luxury  and 
raitaavagance  and  Ucense!  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  bit 
better  than  others;  pretense  isn't  in  me;  but  then  I'm 
no  worse.  How  a  clergyman  like  you  can  go  on  wwking 
among  us  and  trying  to  do  us  good—" 

"Stop,"  Bainbridge  said,  quietly. 

Miss  Higgins  came  to  an  abnq)t  halt.    As  her  fadte 
347 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

tean  were  already  flowing,  she  began  to  cry.  "Now  that 
you've  got  me  in  your  power,"  she  whimpered,  "  I  suppose 
you're  goin^j  to  roia  me." 

To  this  it  was  a  long  minute  before  he  made  a  response. 
He  needed  the  time  to  disperse  the  thoughts  of  which 
Leslie  \^aa  the  center  that  crowded  in  the  forefront  of  his 
mind.  He  also  needed  the  time  to  remind  himself  again 
that,  viper  as  this  woman  made  herself,  it  was  for  Imr  to 
disclose  in  her  the  spiritual  and  the  lovely  and  help  ner 
to  be  true  to  it.  Another  man's  task,  he  admitted,  might 
be  different;  but  that  was  his. 

"Now  yott  see  why  Leslie  is  so  eager  that  you  shouldn't 
marry."  "Now  you  see  what's  been  weighing  on  poor 
Maggie  aU  these  years,  and  what  she  couldn't  under- 
stand." "Now  you  see  why  Leslie  and  Qorinda  have  been 
supposed  not  to  like  each  other,  liking  eadi  other  probably 
too  wdL"    "Now  you  see—" 

By  a  heroic  effort  be  dismissed  these  thoughts,  or 
thrust  them  backward,  in  order  to  say  to  Miss  Higgins, 
with  something  like  calmness  of  utterance:  "No,  I'm  not 
going  to  ruin  you— not  if  you  do  what  I  tdl  you." 

She  whimpered  again.  "Youll  ruin  me  ;f  you  take 
away  my  means  of  livelihood.  I  sha'n't  have  five  hundred 
dollars  a  year.  I've  wnply  got  to  go  everywhere  and  see 
everybody — " 

"I'm  not  going  to  take  away  your  means  of  livelihood. 
I  shall  only  ask  you  to  iT^  what  will  leave  you  with  a 
dearer  conscience.  You're  not  a  mean  and  spiteful  woman 
naturally,  though  jrou've  done  some  mean  and  spiteful 
things." 

"I  didn't  do  them  meanly  or  spitefully,  either — " 

"No;  you  did  them  only  foolishly,  and  with  a  wish  to 
nuke  money  out  of  other  people's  failings."    He  Upped 
34S 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

the  podiet  ooatainmg  the  Ddphic  oracles.  "I've  been 
looldiig  over  these  pages.  Every  thing  in  them  isn't 
unlondly,  by  any  means.  It's  gossipy  and  trivial,  to  be 
sure,  and  not  worth  while;  but  there's  no  gieat  haim  is 
It.  Why  shouldn't  you  write  like  that?" 
"They  wouldn't  want  me  ta" 

"Try  it.    People  have  been  good  to  you;  be  good  to 
ttem-Md  see.    There's  a  line  in  the  New  Testament 
^di  I  dare  say  you  remember.    The  authorized  version 
givesitas:  'Ever  follow  that  which  is  good.' but  a  modem 
teanaUtion  makes  it:  'Always  foUow  the  kindest  course. ' 
I  m  going  to  ask  you  to  take  that  as  a  sort  of  motto— " 
"  It  isn't  in  me  not  to  be  kind,"  she  sobbed. 
'No,  of  course,  it  isn't,  not  naturally." 
"But  if  I'm  not  siricy— " 

"JjMttryitandsee.  If  evil  seems  to  succeed,  good  will 
succeed  better.  M  we  need  is  the  courage  to  act  up  to  it. 
I  shall  be  surprised  not  to  learn  that  if  you've  been  paid 
for  bring  nasty  you-U  be  better  paid  for  being  nice 
And  there's  one  thing  more,"  he  hurried  on,  not  aUow- 
mg  her  to  speak.  "You've  dcme  a  great  deal  of  harm  to 
Leshe  and  Maggie  Palliser.  I  want  you  to  help  in  put- 
ting that  right." 

The  prognathic  jaw  dropped  again.  "If  it's  going  to 
ttem  on  my  bended  knees-and  eating  humble  pie-and 
teHjng  Uiem  that  I  was  just  putting  two  and  two  together 
--that  I  couldn't  do.  It's  not  in  me.  Oh,  don't  make  me 
doit — " 

"Wait!  Let  me  finidi.  I  don't  want  you  to  see  them. 
I  don't  want  them  even  to  know  your  name.  Well- 
well  not  do  anything  sensational  or  theatrical.  They 
tiiink  well  of  you  as  it  is.  Let  them  continue  to  do  so. 
But  '—he  todc  a  moment  to  reflect-"  but  go  over  tiiere— " 

'7  349 


1 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Wri??  to  !L!  *^r -^  *^  *'«' what  I  dfctrta 
2^»4^te  on  p.p«  with  ao  add««^  «,d  n<rtli^J 

"I  am  the  author  of  the  poraennhn  *!,.♦  i. 

ma««-.  Iw«htosaytha?SSuS*to'r?r 
bridge,  and  now  b^  to  teU  vou  that  T  ^^^*u  ^  ,' 
and  foolishly,  y^  mZlZa^!,!^^^'^'^^ 
your  afiaiis.    What  I  hn™  ^'''•Mge  of  your  hves  or 

tion  than  to  an>«se^e  «Xs  „X  ^1°^  "^T" 
askyoutopardonit.    I  shall  J  ^-^^^^ 

"Don't  put  any  signaturt,"  he  added  "A.  f «  ♦».  *  t 
^«al«  the  nece^  explanatlSthich'^wi^n^U 
riS  Kn2   T  °°  ""f  ^'**  ^''««  =*«  brought  the  «»! 

^s^rrinS'^rpSr^^^^raL'tr.^ 

3«y  «ul  g^tuitous  thou^'<n^S*S2^ 
-youn    of  course,  never  mention  it  againHSll^ 

to  d^  Sf '"''  ^.^  y°":  '^  «"'  't  rem^f™ 

«.^-«i:Lir,tr^i---trt^^- 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

he  deemed  it  his  duty  to  oc«o«d  hi. 


her  repeat  the  act 


'^P''P'«"»  and  to  let 


an  eloquent  silence   the  n««.  ^7^  ™*-    ^*  ^^^ 

was  seated,  readine  fi^Trt^nv.  °"***''  ^^  °th«- 

fell  upon  his  knees.  noiselessly  behmd  them  and 

helpless.  l^Ui^Z^^'^^'^^^^^^'i 
mutter.  bn>lcenly^^t?«^h':X-S^^  ^^^  °^- 
«yhfe."   The  words  passed  thniu^hHr^f'**^'*"*" 


•^  «»..  -n^JTS^iTSi' 


asi 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

method,  of  acceptance,  and  which  should  be  his?  Evm 
here  there  was  a  ri^t  and  a  wrong;  even  here  he  had  to 
beamiest.  There  might  be  a  thing  pennissible  to  other 
men  «*ich  would  not  be  pennissible  to  him;  there  might 

te  th^T**^  ^"^  *^  *"**  """^  not  be  a  nec«dty 

It  was  as  far  as,  for  the  moment,  he  could  go.  All  was 
•o  obscure  that  when  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands 
he  made  nothing  any  darker.  In  the  darkness  he  could 
only  endure.  Thought  became  formless,  chaotic.  Even 
suffering  grew  to  be  an  uniUumined.  biutal  thing,  like  the 
saBmag  of  some  huge  beast  neither  seeing  nor  seaichine 
a  why  or  a  wherefore.  Into  it  he  was  so  deeply  plunged 
that  It  was  hke  the  primal  order  of  things,  nerveless  in- 
orgwuc.  unconscious.  He  might  have  been  immersed  in 
It;  he  might  have  been  drowned  in  it.  During  the  space 
of  a  long  half-hour  he  might  have  been  reduced  to  the 
amoebic,  to  the  protoplasmic. 

When  inteUigence  began  to  stir  it  was  in  disconnected 
phrases  out  of  the  ageless  record  of  human  experience 
«*ich  was  to  hmi  as  his  every-day  speech.  They  came 
without  prehide  and  passed  without  sequence,  out  of  the 
darkness  and  into  the  darkness  again. 

"Yea,  even  mine  own  familiar  &iend  whom  I  trusted 
hath  laid  great  wait  for  me." 

"Ah  sinful  nation,  a  people  laden  with  iniquity,  a  seed 
oi  evildoers." 

"And  the  woman  was  arrayed  in  purple  and  scarlet— 
and  dedced  with  gold  and  ptedous  stones-and  upon  her 
torebead  was  a  name  written— mtstery  " 

"And  <me  shaU  ask  him.  What  are  these  wounds  in 
thme  hands.'  and  he  shaU  answer.  Those  with  which  I 
was  wounded  in  the  house  of  my  friends." 
353 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

8ulf  of  Thne  3L  h«  ,      7^  ^  '^'''  "    ''-^  ^ 

Out  of  the  deep  h.v«  I  ajjed  un^   h'  "      S' 
"wd.  hear  my  voice."  "■       ■'J'^d. 

He  repeated  the  words  in  the  ««««.> 

they  caa«  laden  wirt^tTrUT" '-;  "' ''' 
generations:.  "^  neea  aa.    -x-titi.,,.   :,'   -^t,. 

" De  profuHdis  ckmmi  ad  U  Domi^-   n     ■ 
tionless  ^^t^nnXZ^tT^'^  -  -- 

meetings  they  sh<Ld  hSTth^aSinTirt  "^ 

And  how  much  practical  ponH  JT^  *^  ^°*- 
going  to  do  with  it  «Sl^      good  do  you  suppose  we'n» 

tolTurin'^SSr^'^J*!^^*  <^  the  rector 
taking  notes  of^^  **  ""^^^  *°  J-i^  desk, 

slow?:   °'^°^^  ^'^^^  suggestions.    He  answered. 

^'^ZZ.^'il  S^^-y  that  we  can 

re.Sctt.^---S"^"t^ry"i 

ten^en^andl^e^^^l-rieStw^e^o^ 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

white  hair  bnished  back  from  temple,  and  biow.  gave 
aim  a  touch  of  the  apostdic. ' 

Bainbridge's  tone  was  still  jitter.  "Then  tAv  do  we 
go  on  doing  it?"  /    v  wc 

The  reply  was  not  so  much  ponderous  as  delivered  with 
a  certain  weU-weighed  sdcmnity.  "To  the  best  of  my 
bebef.  we  go  on  doing  it  in  the  hope  o(  the  future, 
imt  with  the  conservative,  self-perpetuating  methods  of 

tll6    pASt. 

"And  do  you  think  that's  enough?" 
A  brief  hesitation  preceded  the  i^ly.    "No.    Thepov- 
^y  of  the  return  in  proportion  to  thj  immensity  of  the 
^ort  shows  that  it's  not  enough."    There  was  a  second 
bnef  hesitation.    "Bainbridge.  I've  never  said  to  any  one 
befOTe  what  I  m  now  going  to  confess  to  you.    !''«■  come 
to  the  conclusion,  not  only  by  thinking,  but  by  Hv:n?  and 
seemg,  that  Christiaaity  needs  to  be  presented  under  some 
new  and  simpler  and  aiore  vital  fonn." 
"What?"  Bainbridge  demanded,  eagerly.    "Which?" 
"I'm  an  old  man.    I've  worked  for  fifty  years  along  the 
imes  on  which  I  m  working  now.    I  cling  to  my  Book  of 
Common  Prayer,  and  to  the  rites  and  ceremonies  of  the 
Churdi.    I  chng  to  them  passionately.    I  don't  suppose 
1  shall  ever  give  them  up." 

Bainbridge  drew  to  the  edge  of  his  arm^Jiair  and  leaned 
forward,  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  His  face  was  to  his  body 
as  the  flame  is  to  the  torch.  "But-but  would  you  think 
It  nght  to  give  them  up?" 

The  response  was  as  measured  as  before.  "I  think  it 
nght  for  every  Uving  wganism  to  grow.  And  growth 
raeans  change.  And  change  means  readjustment.  And 
readjustment  means  new  methods  to  meet  new  needs 
And  new  needs  mean  new  perceptians.  And  new  percep- 
aS4 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

tions  mean  a  fuUer  grasp  of  truth.    Where  you  have  ™-w 
'^„y°"* .vou  have  p«petnal  adaptatioT  "^ 

^But  «n  t  the  Church  the  fruitage  and  heritage  of  the 

St^.  ^T^.*^*''  P~^"^«  petrifaction  in  us." 
"C W    >    •  ^  ^  ^'^  ^«°»«'  to  *ake  the  r<^ 

limit  as  «m»      t*  •  '^^       ™*°  knows  no  such 

mnit  as  tune.  It  is  new  every  momine  It  iq  n.),/,™ 
everyday.  Our  love  of  tSon^^JL^t^ 
substituting  a  dead  past  for  a  Uvine  Christ-  nnJic^  * 

offenng  the  petrified  thing-the  stone."    ™™^  '"^'^ 

Ah,  but  is  the  world  hungerine  and  tfiir<^„„    & 
righteousness?"    Bainbridfie  feS^,  „fr^«  ^ 
ine  to  tw.  fh«»     ..  A   ™r^        the  root  of  his  question- 
fflg  to  be  there.      Are  the  people  of  New  York  doine  it 

SnlH^M  r**  T^  we  nrix  With  everjr  day-ani 
think  highly  of-and-^d"-the  word  camTout  witH 
S^l^  "acedness  and  passion-' wlj 
A«ntm«t  of  us  rotten?  Isn't  it  putnsfaction  rath^ 
than  petnfaction  that  makes  our  difficulty?" 
Jhe  k^^d  eyes  rested  on  him  long  and  sympatheti- 
cauy-       I  see.    That's  what's  troubling  you.    I  knew 

ass 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"It  has  troubled  me  too— in  the  past  It  doesn't  ao 
much  now,  because— wsU,  because  it  dqiends  someirhat 
on  one's  point  of  view— on  ooe's  way  o£  looking  at  one's 
fellow-men." 

Bainlmdge's  bloodshot  eyes  asked  the  necessary  oues- 
tion  without  words. 

''You  can  see  human  beings  from  the  angle  trf  their  vice 
and  depravity,  in  which  case  you  despair  of  them  as— to 
use  ytwr  own  word-as  rotten.  Or  you  can  see  them 
from  the  angle  of  their  struggle  with  evil,  in  which  case 
you  applaud  them  as  soldiers,  or,  like  Some  One  Else  you 
have  compassion  on  the  multitude  because  they  are  as 
she^  having  no  shepherd.  I  once-"  a  new  pause  gave 
emphasis  to  his  words  before  he  uttered  them— "I  once 
looked  upon  all  New  Yoik  as  materialistic,  soulless,  de- 
bauched, besotted,  and  stupefied  with  success.  Tcwlay— 
I  have  compassion  on  the  multitude-and  on  the  indi- 
■taduals  who  make  it  up.  I  know  them.  I  know  their 
^eedj  and  their  lusts  and  thtar  impieties  and  their  crazes- 
but  I  know,  too,  the  fight  they're  making." 

"Some,  perhaps,"  Bainbridje  objected,  piomDtlv  "a 
few;  not  all."  ■" 

"Yes,  an— in  the  sense  that  to  get  rid  of  our  evils- 
social,  poKtical,  personal-is  a  large  part  of  the  spirit  of 
the  day  No  one  escapes  it  whoUy,  not  the  most  indifierent 
or  selfish.  What  is  it,  for  example,  that  Mary's  been 
telhng  me  about  Clorinda  Gildersleeve?  Taken  a  poor 
httle  girl,  hasn't  she?  to  give  her  a  chance.  Clorinda 
Gildersleeve  is  the  type  of  the  great  American  pagan. 
She  s  never  belonged  to  a  church,  nor  ber  father  nor  her 
mother  before  her.  And  yet,  you  see!  She  reflects  the 
nobihty  of  the  age,  of  her  surroundings." 

"In  one  respect,"  Bainbridge  agreed,  with  an  inward 
as6 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

Uttenien  of  winch  be  tried  to  give  no  outwarf  indi- 
cation. 

"One  respect-if  it's  no  more  than  that— is  a  great 
deal.  It's  the  b^pining  of  the  pixicess  that  sooner  or 
later  wiU  andude  aU  respects.  Don't  be  in  too  big  a 
hurry.  Don't  try  to  go  faster  than  God.  I  twed  to.  I 
don't  now.  Now  I'm  satisfied  to  watch  the  Sght— and 
forwee  the  victory.  When  any  one  comes  to  me  now— 
or  I  go  to  hmv-and  I  learn  things  that  a  few  yeara  ago 

night  have  amazed  or  staggered  me " 

"Then— what?"  Bainbridge  asked  the  brief  question 
as  a  man  who  hangs  on  the  reply. 

"Then— I  take  such  things  as  the  dust  of  the  battle 
Where  there's  fighting,  blood  will  flow— raw  blood  i«i 
blood— and  that's  always  an  ugly,  animal  thing-6<d  the 
big  struggle's  behind  it.  That's  what's  to  rejoice  hearts 
hke  yours  and  mine— the  big  struggle  that's  going  on, 
not  only  m  our  churches,  but  outside  thent-and  of  which 
such  an  action  as  Clorinda  Gildereleeve's  is  an  example 
That's  what  I  see  now— right  here  in  New  York— right 
here  m  St.  Mary  Magdalen's— where,  of  course,  the  fight 
IS  as  fierce  as  anywhere." 

"  Then  if— if  you  discovered  that  people  you  knew— and 
cared  for— were  guilty  of— of  great  sin—?" 

"The  sin  wouldn't  be  any  the  greater  because  it  was 
committed  by  people  I  knew  and  cared  for.  I'd  treat 
p«)ple  I  knew  and  cared  for  as  I  should  treat  people  I 
didn  t  know  and  didn't  care  for  at  all.  I'd  see  them  as 
soldiers  who've  been  struck  down  in  the  battle,  but  are 
Ucely  to  scramble  up  again  and  contribute  their  share  to 
the  big  victory  that's  to  be  won." 

"Ah,  but,  when  it's  something  that— that  touches  one- 
self— very  closely?" 

»S7 


■t^^^S^A.  y3^^!£3/:;t?i^/*?,#K:;.Jai 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

her  a  stonT^  SLT^,,^  "*  ""*  we  offer  him  or 
"ndlmaysayofatDo^li    \'* '^^^l  the  time  in  life, 

you  that  it's  the  iS't ^' ri'^.f  J  r'r^^ 
•"^eamzer  by  nature;   I'm  aWflr  *  *'•    '™  "> 

spiritual  gifl^  IwedSlST"^  I  never  had 
Mt  up  an  effiden^^  ^IXtt^  *^  ««*  ^'^ 
clockwork;  and  per^^^r^  ^S^"'^«  "^ 
biggest  mcomes,  and  ori^^thThJ^  J^  8°t  one  of  the 
aost  influential  ™ati,^  ^,^  «md  one  of  the 
there  are  senses  in  ^^fTJ^  *^"  ~?*^--  "^^  yet 
rinda  Gilder^leeve hLdle  JoTS ^"^  ***  ''^^  ^lo- 
the  practical,  usefuTt^HiT  *^  °?«» P«»-  Httle  waif^ 
than  be  re^ JSc^'^^  *^*«  *^'  ^  «ean- 

much  at^tiofto  the  ^V  ^.^  *^*  ^'^  8^^  «> 
enough  of  the  p^urt  S"^^*  '  ^^''  thought 
too  old  now  ^«  to  d^CS^  ;  ^•^'y  I'- 
y«^.myboy.  You'll  li^^  ^^^'^  ^"t  /«•'« 
«hgious,  in  the  Christian  ^rf^  f**  '**"««'  «»  the 
««°ething  to  d^  SS^V^i  ■  ^"^'^'y  y°"'«  have 
the  sha^g  oTthTl^  "^^^  *^  y°"  will-with 
andtheopLSSthtSnT^'^'^^  '"^''  "^  *«  P-t- 
the  Kvin?:^iri^'tSrn:-<^."'.«  --aling  of 

wm^  eag.  to  comeiSdtTaLJST*^'  ^*  '-'- 

heS^':?uS:t"Li:'ir^  -  ^''■^-'  h^  here- 
upon h«  han<k^  has  eyes  staring  vacantly  at 


and 

m — 

lOW- 

lor 

wd; 

life, 

md 

ing 

an 

lad 

r'd 

by 

he 

he 

et 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

yond  the  veil  thatS  ^  "-^^^  t  •*'^*  ^'  ^ 
and  hani  on  v^  Z  S?  r^  ^r '^  ***  «ft««»n 

horizon  now ^S^^'ar^iSlS"**"""-    ^^ 


CKAPTER  XVm 


li 


JT  WM  one  of  the  rare  nights  in  his  life  during  which 
*  Bambndge  did  not  so  much  as  go  to  bed.  Thehoura 
passed  nthout  his  noticing,  as  he  tramped  from  the  study 
mto  the  dining-room  and  back,  returning  ever  and  again 
on  his  footsteps.  It  was  between  two  and  three  in  the 
mwrnng  when  he  heard  a  stirring  and  a  whispering  in  the 
haU,  after  which  Wedlock,  a  grotesque  little  figure  in 
CMP^  shppers  and  one  of  Bainbridge's  old  dressing-gowns 
wMi  was  too  long  for  him,  appeared  on  the  thieshdd. 

His  tone  was  distressed  and  pitying.  "Can't  you  deep. 
sat  No  more  can  1;  no  more  can  Mis.  Wedlock  in  a 
manner  <rf  speaking.  She's  sent  me  to  ask  if  you  couldn't 
heat  a  htUe  something,  sir.  There's  plenty  o'  cold  meat 
m  the  ouse,  for  you  didn't  'ardly  touch  nothink  for  vour 
dinner."  ' 

Bainbridge  stopped  in  his  walk  just  loqg  enough  to 
say:  No,  Wedlock,  thank  you.  Tm  quite  aU  right.  Go 
back  to  bed,  and  Mrs.  Wedkxdc  too." 

But  Wedlock  insisted.    Directed  by  his  wife  in  loud 

whispers  from  the  haU,  he  brought  a  bottle  <rf  milk  and  a 

plate  of  crackers,  and  laid  them  on  the  dining-nxan  table 

Try  to  heat  a  little,  sir.    Wakefulness  ain't  often  nothink 

but  having  nothink  in  the  stomach." 

Bainbridge  thanked  him,  nibbled  a  cracker   drank  a 
glass  of  milk,  and  sent  the  old  couple  back  to  bed.    Then 
ate 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^C!r^."?  P**^'  h»  l»»d  bent,  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  house-jacket. 

^»jubiect8  of  his  meditation  «ei«  niixed.  but  not 
effused.  They  blended  vrith  one  anothTuley  m<^ 
fied  one  another,  and  yet  remained  distinct. 
JZ^r^r^  ^  "^^  everything  else  was  the  knowl- 
edge that  Leshe  was  the  man.  He  had  no  necessity  to 
return  to  the  thought,  since  it  was  always  there,  the  one 

?^^.^"'^'"^*'^'«*«-  In  vain  he  put  it  to 
hanself.  "What  differen,*  does  it  make  whetheTit  w2 

he  or  not  so  long  as  you  knew  it  was  some  one?"  It  did 
make  a  difference,  yet  what  he  couldn't  say.  Though 
ev-eiy  nerve  in  his  system  revolted  against  the  fact,  it 

SL^  ^"  "^^-  ^  ^^  "^  ^y  ^  that  it 
brought  the  sm  nearer;  it  forced  it  under  his  eyes-  it 
made  hmi.  m  a  measure,  a  partaker  of  its 

.,^  /^^*  ^*  ^'^'"^  °^  *«  "Kl't  word.  The 
eternal  battle  between  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  took  place 
a^ova^agamm  his  soul.  What  was  lawful  and  what  was 
™c  A^, ^P««=^ble  to  human  nature  and  what 

^u^\  ^*  ^  P^*y  ^<*  ^^^  ^  ^^  con- 
ventionahty?  What  was  the  power  that  could  sanctify  in 
one  set  of  conditions  that  which  it  condemned  in  another 
and  what  war.  the  compelling  motive  for  either  coune^ 
What  was  passion?  What  was  love?  How  far  could  the 
^e  excuse  the  other,  and  perhaps  give  it  consecration? 
Were  the  so-called  sms  of  the  flesh  the  most  pollutine  of 
«ns,  or  w^  the  sins  of  the  spirit  the  greater?  The 
world  would  overlook  lying  and  dishonesty  and  treachery 
and  mgratitude  and  the  evil  tongue  to  throw  its  emphasis 
here;  but  was  he,  the  professed  servant  of  God.  the  slave 
of  Chnst.  the  doulos  ChrisUm,  as  St.  Paul  would  have 
called  hmi,  to  see  only  in  this  half-light  and  with  this 
261 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

S^-lSinS"  "^  ~*^  "^  *»  •- '^ -> 

situations  he  faLT.s^.    h      -fagmation  flev.  on  to 

resolved  itwlf  „„*•■*    u  ^7'     ""*  ™°'«  and  more  life 

I^nfyingbecon.  active,  it  m^  ^ThSu£^£  ?el™ 
strataon  of  power.     When  he  asked^elf  w    ^" 
answer  c^e  that  "it  would  be  J^i^^  ^°"'  *^« 

««lt.inthatitprescHhedLr4:    -SeTwrno^S 
aofl 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


every  ««  thft  c«2S*i^  Z  Sd^^*  ^'^f  '^^'''^h 
answer  with  whi^^™^  ,  T"'''*'  >«  the  kind  of 
"Who  art  thou  S»u -S^^r*^"?^  -«*  -et. 

l^owntnasterhestanSriK"^"*^*^  T° 
last  as  the  kev  to  h^    *  ,     ^'«*'    «me  to  him  at 

^<^  Sy  irt^hiTrsr ^  s^  -^^ 

niasta-  they  stood  or  the,,  fori    T/^^    To  their  own 

v.^lS1Si;*Ct^a„«^-«-.  he  felt 

yet  dawn,  and  the  ^  I^  ,T^  ^-  ^*  ''^  ""t 
had  Passek  into  a  bl^r^"^'''^'.  *-*  •darkness 
nearer  buildings  wZ^^^Z.^^^  '^Wch  the 
cubes  and  tow^^r^*"^  silhouettes,  while  the 

WithamuiSkS?^.^  "^."^^  ^-^  *^"1°"«- 
•ng.    lC^^h:i"n^7^t^''°*^--awak- 

early  church  bells     MV^CT-.-      ,         "^"^  *  ^"und  of 

tricLs^S,,^°^fS2  ^/  tr^«  °^  «'- 

streets  wheels  creaked  nv^t^il        ^  ^^  neighboring 

7^.  effect  in  1  S^'tSr^al'^S?  ^  ""^ 
And  in  and  thiouirh  <.„^^      ^  almost  voiceless. 

wei.  a  ti^nS:::^^  ^ht  Xch^t  2:  ^,  """^  ^°'-'»^ 
the  humming  of  million.  1^"*  "^^  compare  to 

^^^^^J^^^of  milhons  upon  tnUions  and  banks  and 

If  during  the  morning  he^had  a  sunrise  it  was  that  the 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

houn  ptwhwed  io  little.  In  the  coune  o£  hii  dutiM  he 
«w  •  good  many  people,  but  there  wai  nothing  to 
^«t;ngu«sh  these  interview.  fi«n  other.  0/  theUnd 
Nothing  new  wa.  revealed;  nothing  was  "given  him." 
Without  premeditatmg"  he  had  not  been  able  to  keep 
h^  from  expecting.  He  had  expected  the  strildngli 
each  turn^^the  memorable  and  dramatic;  and  aU  wj  a. 

o?^dS  ""^  "" '^^ ''°^' t»" -««*«- out 

He  drew  the  conclusion  that  tiiis  guidimt  lieht  was 
J««vmg  itself  for  the  meetings  that  ^3tate  p^ 

between  himself  and  the  three  or  four  other  main  actora 
m  the  iMeoe  <rf  which  involuntarily  he  fat  himself  the 

centw.  There  would  be  much  that  was  terrible  to  say 
and  do:  and  he  should  receive  his  true  prempting  then 
In  the  mean  tune  he  kept  himself  as  best  he  ^  fix»n 
Mtiapation,  only  putting  his  expectancy  a  little  further 

But  he  caned  on  the  light  to  come  to  his  aid  when,  on 
approachmg  Mrs.  GUderdeeve's  house  in  the  eSTp^ 

tllT  *^°*"'  -^  ^^"^  ^"y  ^^'^y  coming  down 
itthf^  T^-'f^^.heneededinspiration^LciS 
Tf  TTT"  ^"^  °^  ^""^  sure  of  what  had  happened. 
M  he  had  not  guessed  it  from  some  inward  spirit  of  divina- 
faon,  he  must  have  read  it  from  the  manner  in  which  the 
tru^damtyhttle  figure  movid  Though  thet«  were  but 
ttose  stq)s  to  descend,  she  paused  on  each,  pressing  her 

uKe  a  person  m  pam  as  one  m  agitation 

As  she  turned  and  walked  with  bent  head  in  his  direc- 
tion he  was  not  free  from  the  hope  that  she  would  pass 

so  she  looked  up.    There  was  then  a  fmgment  of  a  second 
364 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^,^,^'>?^'^g'^Bt  the  other.  TbMt 
^it  Mem«l  lake  gaang.  though  the  time  was  iiwiffident 
te«o«  than  a  brief  resting  of  the  eye,.    OnteSt 

«  h«  with  the  diaimy  of  ««ng  that  she  was  obKged  t,^ 

^wi€«  for  hunsdf.  a«,  gossip  of  their  conm««  friends 
would  now  have  induced  a  condition  of  self^onsdousness 
As  ,t  was  he  becaaie  obliged  to  note  the  successive 
phases  of  emotion  through  which  she  passed  so  quickly 
«^ariy  a  tinned  mind  could  have  observed  th  J 
Suipnse.  alann  mortification,  bravado  which  developed 

w  *T^'  **^°'^  °"  •»*  ^"^er  so  dosely  as  to  make 
aWeud.  Thoughonlythelast,emained.hehi^seSS 
Z  ^  °Z  ?/  ""^  ''^  ^^  ^'^  '^  ^  the  smile 
tl      .  f"\**' {"«*•  "^  the  fnuJmess  with  which  she 

hTlSi^T  '^  ^*^  '^  **  P^<=^«1-  d«wn  look 
he  had  lately  remarked  in  her  face,  as  well  as  by  tte 
poignant  mquuy  he  now  read  in  her  eyes 

nf '^*  kT^'^TT*  ^<J"^'  ft^"  °^  questioning,  fuU 
of  doubt,  as  shesaid.  with  her  hand  finnly  clasping  Z 

Clonnda  has  been  telling  me  ««,  most  wonS  5ung. 
1  do  hope  you  may  be  very,  very  happy  " 

He  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to  notice  a  choice  of 
^  which  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  the  purpose 
^bemg  non-committal.  He  responded  with  the  gi^ 
fevor:  I W  we  shaU  be;  but  tha^  you  all  the  Lne." 
Makmg  an  effort  to  cany  off  the  situation  easily,  he  said 
ftirther:  J  shojdd  W  told  your  father  and  mother  at 
once,  only  that  I  didn't  know  Clorinda  wanted  it  to  come 
out  so  soon. 

Behind  her  laugh,  which  endeavored  to  be  light,  he 
26s 


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^S  C'fi)   283  -  5989  -  Fo, 


THE    LIFTED   VEIL 
Pmnfi  i      .  surpnsed  the  secret.     Sir  Malcolrn 

"Oh,  is  Ae  there?" 

He  was  aware  of  partially  letting  down  hi<=  bar,  fm^ 

"He  left;  but  he  was  recalled.    The  ranarUa,,  c 

sent  another  man  to  buy  the  hot^  "  °"'"'  ^^^'^  ^" 

Having  given  this  information  and  repeated  her  n.. 

been  vouchsafed  to  him     Tr,  tu^  speaal  Ught  had 

-  paring,  t  '^"^Jl^^^ZT^^  ^^^  -''  ^^o 

l-he  door  was  opened  to  him  by  Pansy  Wilde  rlpl,v,t»i 
^d  almost  ado^bly.  pretty  in  the  bl^Sl  'a^S?' 

Sl'T-  "''^'^  '^^  *°  '^  her  unifo^    ''C 
Sked  £  V'r'?"'  ^  *"'  ^"""^  °«  his  overcoat    .'^h: 
And  you're  getting  along  aU  right?" 

her'J::^.'^0l  yjtr  '  ^^  "^^  '^'  ''"^'^  ^«  ^ung 
366 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


"Better  than  at  the  Home?" 

The  tone  was  even  more  eager.    "Oh  yes  sirP 
And  the  other  maids  are  nice  to  yc«r'  "^^ 

-aJV  ^'"  '°  ""certainty.     "Yes,  sir." 
And  Hindmarsh,  too?" 

'■Oh,  A^'^sallpier    He's  lovely." 

_  And  you've  seen  your  mother?" 

^^^^.r  .ae.  whltette^^^^S  ^^ 

.     ift?efwaTtry't?mer-    "^^^- "-''--h -id  that 
•    sett,e-theJhthCth:„'-^"'°'^"'^-    «« -"^'^^ 

That's  what  helps  4  mostrthTL;;;^^'  '^  '^"■^'■ 

saijTrir '■  dS;:  '^?r*  ^«  -^t.  Pansy 
up-siaii^     '      *    ^°"^'^^'  ^'^  ''^  «>«tinued  on  his  way 

"IVe  wanted  you  so  I'     '^"'  '°""'     ^^  ^'^'^P^'^J- 

Nev^^had'^ltrj-  -  ^n..  -.— ^n.- 
him  command.  NeveTL  w  .  "^T  ^-  *°  ''^^^ 
..ov™  more  .aS^t^ntrer^  s^ccSt^i^ 


tll'i 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

to  him  on  the  simple  ground  of  woman  coming  near  to 
man     If  she  had  had  it  in  her  mind  to  bewitch  him  with 
the  fascinations  that  would  most  readily  get  possession  of 
his  senses  she  would  have  borne  hereelf  in  jyst  this  way 
She  was  simple  and  noble  and  caressing  and  feminine 
now  in  turns,  and  now  all  at  once. 

He  was  both  enchanted  and  appalled.  How  should  he 
tell  her  what  he  knew?  How  should  he  share  or  mitigate 
or  forestall  what  must  of  necessity  be  he  -  .iment  of 
humihation?  Inwardly  he  begged,  he  pra  ed,  for  the 
promised  light.  While  he  watched  her  and  smiled  and 
responded  to  her  moods  he  was  saying  to  himself  that  the 
veil  was  still  down,  thicker  than  ever,  a  darkness  where 
he  hoped  for  a  pillar  of  fire,  and  he  knew  neither  what  to 
say  nor  what  to  do. 

But  he  waited.    While  she  talked,  somewhat  inconse- 
quentially, on  subjects  of  no  importance,  he  made  the 
necessary  responses,  but  he  did  no  more.    The  workings 
of  his  mind  were  not  only  complicated;   they  were  self- 
contradictory.    With  one  set  of  his  faculties  he  enjoyed 
as  only  a  lover  can  enjoy,  the  spell  she  cast  over  hL-n  •  with 
another  he  found  himself,  in  spite  of  his  warnings  of  the 
previous  mght,  again  accusing  her  of  treachery  to  Maggie 
Palhser;  with  .still  another  he  was  trying  to  anticipate 
her  shame  when  he  should  have  to  teU  her  that  her  treach- 
«y  was  known.    Between  the  humanly  tender  in  him  and 
the  sacerdotaUy  severe  the  struggle  was  so  equal  that 
they   negatived   each   other,   rendering   him   powerless. 
Who  IS  sufficient  for  these  things?"  he  asked  himself, 
becoming  only  the  more  certain  that  unless  the  longed-for 
guidance  were  given  him  he  should  be  lost. 

Clorinda  was  restless,  moving  unquietly  about  the  room 
changing  the  position  of  an  ornament,  a  vase  of  flowers! 
a68 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

or  a  bit  of  furniture,  not  because  it  was  out  of  place,  but 
because  she  couldn't  keep  still.  He,  too,  was  restless. 
When  she  rose,  he  rose;  when  she  reseated  herself  he 
paced  about;  when  she  sprang  up  he  was  as  likely  as  not 
to  sit  down.  They  were  both  standing,  however,  when 
he  threw  into  the  conversation,  abruptly,  "I  met  Mary 
Galloway  as  I  came  in." 

"Oh,  poor  Mary!"  she  continued,  as  she  straightened  a 
beflowered  Chelsea  shepherd  and  shepherdess  on  the 
cabinet  beside  her.    "I  told  her.    I  thought  it  best." 

"Best  to  tell  her,  or  best  to  tell  every  one?" 

"Both.  I'd  a  lot  of  reasons  for  thinking  she  oughtn't 
to  be  taken  by  surprise."  She  stood  back  to  consider  the 
effect  of  the  figurines.  "Seeing  her  as  often  as  I  do,  I 
can't  help  knowing—  You  see,  if  I  hadn't  intervened, 
poor  Mary—"  Sheallowed  him  to  finish  both  of  these  sen- 
tences for  himself  as  she  hurried  on.  "And  she's  such  a 
dear.  No  one  knows  how  good  she  is  better  than  I  do.  In 
spite  of  all  I've  done  to— to  upset  the  sweet  thing's  plans, 
she's  as  nice  to  me  as  ever.  Why  is  it  that  the  people  who 
are  so  true  and  loyal  and  strong  always  have  to  be  the 
ones  to  suffer  most?"  She  went  forward  to  move  the 
shepherdess  by  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  "And  then  I 
think  we  may  as  well  tell  every  one.  I  mmit  to  tell  every 
one.  I  shall  write  some  notes  to-night  and  post  them. 
Then  we  shall  have  burnt  our  bridges,  sha'n't  we?" 

Notwithstanding  the  wild  mixtiu-e  of  his  emotions,  he 
was  hurt  by  the  figure  of  speech.  "Is  burning  our  bridges 
the  right  term?" 

"Isn't  it?"  She  threw  him  a  quick  look.  "You're 
doing  a  daring  thing — and  so  am  I." 

He  was  aware  of  the  opening  for  gallantry  he  was  over- 
looking as  he  said,  "What  daring  thing  are  you  doing?" 
369 


m 


f'  > 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 
"I'm   marrying   the   assistant    rector   of    «?t     »t 

Once  more  she  came  and  interlocked  h^  fi 
hisneck.    "No;  I'm  glad     h' .l.I.'^  ^^"^  ^"S^rs  about 
He  watched  th.n  '  ^"""^  "'"'='^  '""re  for  me  " 

"He'ssa.^]:gme'^    ^'''°'"^'°^^°^'-"' 

oufont^.'Thi  rro^- -f^^^^^^^^^^^       «^".^n. 
tures.    -From  myself  fcTof^°'  ^^  characteristic  ges- 
"And  then?" 

room.    "Oh,  I  d^'llor  1^"'''  *'  °'^^^  ^'<^^  °^  ^^e 
tne  too  many  questions  "  ^"      ^°"  '^'^'"^  ^ 

du:erh:tmt^^«XiT2s.fd''  ^^^^ 

"  Yeq  "     Tha      .    ,      ,  -""^  *"e  iiadn  t  done  so. 

the  back  of  a  S^aU  5Z^i°  >  '°  ''^^  ^'^  hands  from 

with  nervous  hUt'^^^^ °dilf '  '.^  ""  ''^^""^ 

touched  him  on  the  cheek    -v    .  '  '^^  '^^^'l  a°d 

^^  '*^''-      You  re  not  jealous,  are  you  ?" 

270  •' 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


"That  wouldn't  be  the  word.    I'm-.. 

But  she  hastened  to  interrunt-     "w     <.       , 

"So  Miss  Galloway  towT.    k  .?    ^^^^  '°  '>«*•" 

thS  2l°at'o2°!^''  ^^^  •»«  *--    I  can't  say  eve^- 

as^ef^'' ""^^  ^°"  ''^^^  -^-^  J^?     VouVe  never 

whltSll'^-    "^-^-^i-*  about  tha.dme-.o 

haidstS  S  S^S°  "-•  ,  Standing  with  his 
that  he's  her<>-peien,rv  ,'^r'^^  ^"^^  ''''  ^^^' 
eagerness  tc^to^bur^r^rij^^,'"^'  *°  '"  ^*  3^°^ 

w^^  s2  *:^  ^i^  ^S'^'  °-  -■-^.  l^owever,  there 

•     It  seen^s  to  n.e  tha^'^  Sve^Shtft  ''  ""'  ^^'^^'•' 
bum  them  "  J  ou  ve  a  nght  to  know  is-that  I 

fied^t^t^r -- p-  r '~  '^  -  -^^- 

tention,  without  agr^ing'S  ^  'TV"  'f  ^°"- 
more  important  matter  to  kv  Jf  u  '''^"''  ^^  ^'^ 
to  him  that  the  n^oment  haJ^S" aw  ^"'^^'^^'^ 
feel,  though  he  eould  feel  no  m^^  H.f^T'^-  ""'  "^"^ 
sensation  of  a  man  walkineT  oitnfn  t '^'''"^'^^ ''^^ 
said,  quietly,  as  if  tellW  hp.  f^  *  ^^"'"^^  ^^^^n  he 
been  talking  to  the  S„  1!  *T  'l^'^'^-^--  "IVe 
Leslie  and  MaggTa"  """'^  ^'^^  ^'^^^  about 

him.     If  there  Z^Tnv  I  "'^  '*"^  ^""^  '""ked  at 

seemed  sudSyTCe  ^^ZVl  '."  '*  ""  *^*  ^« 
"  rafe-„g  to  him?"       ^      ''""  °^  intelligence. 
271 


I- 


I 


h 


V    ■ 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


H:gg«s  had  :   Iped  ht  ^^^"'"f  "-'-yal  of  Miss 
nodded-and  watched  *  P""^^"'  he  merely 

fe-  to  a  kind  of  dumbTw^tSl  of  t        '''  '"'  ''^"' 
'f'Jd  read  what  wa.  passS  hi       7  '^*«''*-    »« 
,*e  had  spoken  out.    K^^d  .Jlj^"'^  ^  P^^riy  as  if 
J»es  that  had  annoyed  tZmt^,'"  *^"  ^*«^  of  the 
tain  dark^yed  woi"'^'  ^'^f"  ^e  knew  who  the  "cer- 
had  existed,  was  off  the  ^'rh       ^   '"°"'''  ^  ^^^  ^s  it 
home,  and  grown  no^Sv  SV'"  '*^'  ^""^  "^^  »«« 
vulgar  and  gross.     CTwn  en  °'°"''  ^"*  ""=P«akabIy 
much  of  a  covering  buta^        ^"^  °^  «y^tery.  not 
snatched  fh»n  her    S  w^T"^  f  ''''  ^«.  had  bS 

By  imperceptible  mtlfT'^^"'' helpless, 
hin-    Neith7  noS<S  T""*'  *"  "^^P*  backward  from 
away.    Her  eyes  ^^&*^„P'-^-*ill  ^he  was  farthe" 
hen.    Otherwise  thei^^  °"  S'^=  ^\^y^  were  fixed  on 

«g-    It  seemed  an  et^nS  S^^  "*  **"''  ^"'^  ^"k- 
WeU.?"  Karory  before  she  spoke. 

Somet?mgir^*5,*:,™fl!abIe  was  ^perious. 
was  not  the  fi^t  time  ^  wfuf^ht  rV°.''^^  P°'"*-  I* 
to  a  great  occasion;  but  rt  w^  M  «''"  ''^^  '^^^  ""equal 
-equal  to  an  occa^on  as  g^.f  tv  *  'T  ""'  ""'"^  ^- 
tosaya^a^.    The  only  wor^w  ««  had  nothing 

he  addressed  to  hims^f  °  J  ,u  '  ^"  *°  him  seemed  to 
what  he  had  heard^n  the  orlf  "^  ^T  ^"*  ^"  «ho  of 
passion  on  the  multitude  Th^'  "'^''-  "'  ^^^^  ^«- 
compassion."  He  knew  he  haH  11^°"^='°"=  ^  have 
reminder  failed  of  its  effert  "°«Passion,  so  that  the 

272 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


whSf:il?l;^-J^- -  H.e  .„  eten^t.  But 
wwaixlly  for  the  light  to  L  J  v  ^  '""«'  ^^  ^"d 
doorsaysomethiSiLprif^^-f^t-  He  must 
the  sin  must  be  bn^ht  h^T        ^^^  "^  ^<^^'^«y 

■But  the  veil  was  ^tm  ^.„ 
'nessage  came  out  of      „oT'  ""P^'^'-^We.  dark.    No 
though  somebcty  eke  w^  'fr'"^*'"^  ^ash.    He  felt  as 
her  lacom-c  demand,  h^Zl^Z^''^:''-  ""  ^^^^  '» 

^^rpTcT"^-  ^'^--'^^'^  Si^eLri^jr 

^Ten'r-^ni  tu^Ti^^  ^'^-^■•'^^  -^ 
that  she  began:  "Bur-Wh      ;!^^'  ^^htened  fluting 

He  accepted  her  pLo^  'T J^f  ^^^  ^ow?" 
guessed.  They-they  X^,.  ?'^  ^"^  *  l°>ow;  they 
Maggie  had  a  temp^^^"atr*°"'-  ^hey  knew 
^d  so  they  put  tw^anTtwn  J  "J"  ""^  g°°d-looking, 
f  uation.  That  C  was^ff  •jf.^"'!  '"vented  th'e 
than  a  happy  shot."  ^^  ^^''^  «  it  was  no  more 

HifS.J'^rwltcTthftr^t  '"°-  '^^^-"'^e. 
from  the  force  of  it  Buthe  1  r'^"^^  "^^^  "^^  °"t 
watching  for  the  flash  cwt  of  LT^  ^'*"^"2  ^°'  direction. 
>«  which  this  Ieadi^h^°^^^^-    There  was  a  sense 

was  as  if  frxw,  a  dist^^  tt  f^  ?^^  ""  '^^  ™"d.  It 
the-^herp«^„__:ir:oi^^J:e_h^dher.y..   -But 

that^^^^S^Lt;^S-°->'--wer.„orany 
was  guesswork,  too.     sShI  t°/espond:    "Oh,  that 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

to  add:  "Leslie  told  me  it  was  an  actress;  but  the  person 
who  wrote  the  articles  hadn't  heard  so  much  as  that. 
They  said  it  was  pure  invention— speculation  at  the  most 
—and  based  on  almost  nothing."  As  she  was  putting  her 
handkerchief  to  her  lips  in  a  way  he  had  never  seen  her  do 
before,  he  thought  it  well  to  give  her  further  assurance. 
"The  important  thing  is  that  they  exp  essed  regret  that 
their  careless  words  should  have  given  so  much  trouble, 
while  I  know  that  it's  not  to  happen  again." 

She  bowed  her  head.  Some  seconds  went  by  before  h.; 
perceived  that  she  was  crying.  She  was  crying  bitterly, 
almost  hysterically,  and  with  a  hint  of  laughter  in  her 
tears.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  her  give  way 
to  such  emotion,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  kneeling  at  her 
feet.  When  he  tried  to  draw  her  to  him,  uttering  soothing 
words,  she,  like  Miss  Higgins,  yesterday,  seized  both  his 
hands  and  kissed  them. 

But  he  himself  was  wondering  why  his  confidence  had 
not  been  sustained.  Nothing  had  been  given  liim.  Noth- 
ing had  been  said.  Nothing  would  ever  be  said  now. 
The  opportunity  had  gone  by.  Of  his  complicated  yearn- 
ings only  the  compassion  had  been  gratified;  and  the  veil 
was  as  closely  drawn  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


r\N  making  his  way  between  Mrs.  Gildersleeve's  house 
^^  and  that  of  the  Pallisers,  Bainbridge  could  only 
reason  that  the  guidance  on  wiiich  he  had  counted  was 
being  reserved  for  his  interview  with  Leslie  and  M  .ggie 
He  had  arranged  for  it  beforehand,  telephoning  that  he 
had  something  important  to  say.  Leslie  having  answered 
the  call,  Bainbridge  knew  by  his  voice  that  he  was  in  ^,ome 
trepidation.  Much  as  he  would  have  liked  to  spare  his 
old  fnend,  he  felt  it  beyond  his  power  to  do  so.  repeating 
the  words  of  one  who.  three  thousand  years  before  had 
tried  to  modify  the  Lord's  decree,  and  found  himself 
obliged  to  utter  it  even  against  his  will:  "The  word  that 
God  putteth  into  my  mouth  that  shaU  I  speak."  He  was 
nothing  but  a  mouthpiece.  His  difficulty  lay  in  the  fact 
that  m  Clorinda's  case  the  mouthpiece  had  been  charged 
with  no  message.  If  the  same  thing  were  to  happen 
again.  ... 

But  the  same  thing  couldn't  happen  again.  In  Clo- 
nnda's  case  he.  Bainbridge.  had  not  been  sufficiently 
detached,  impartial.  He  loved  her  o  mucJi  that  to  the 
subtler,  severer  inspiration  his  ears  had  been  dull  of  h^si- 
ing.  He  loved  Leslie  and  Maggie,  too-but  otherwise. 
It  was  not  m  such  a  way  as  to  put  him  out  of  the  question 
as  the  Lord's  instrument.  That  he  should  not  have  faced 
the  matter  with  Clorinda  was  a  failure  of  which  he  was 
27s 


lil 


,r>  ■ 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

ashamed;  but  since  they  were  to  have  their  life  together 
he  might  find  subsequent  opportunities  to  make  amends 
to  her. 

And  they  were  to  have  their  Ufe  together.  With  her 
arms  about  him,  and  her  cheek  against  his,  she  had  whis- 
pered: -When  shaU  we  be  married?  Can't  it  be  soon?" 
He  had  rephed  that,  Lent  being  so  near,  they  would  prob- 
ably be  obhged  to  defer  this  happiness  till  after  Easter. 
She  had  argued  that  they  needed  no  preparation;  they 
had  only  to  walk  into  the  nearest  church.  St.  Mary  Mag- 
daien's  for  preference,  and  have  the  ceremony  blessed 
There  they  had  left  the  question,  undecided;  but  the 
fact  that  It  had  been  raised,  and  raised  in  so  definite  a 
manner,  filled  Bainbridge  with  a  joy  which  was  only  the 
more  excitmg,  certainly  the  more  dramatic,  for  the  ele- 
ment m  It  he  could  only  describe  as  acrid. 

In  Sixty-ninth  Street  he  found  Maggie  waiting  for  him 
in  the  library  with  a  kind  of  resigned  impatience.  "  Well 
Arthur,  what  is  it  now?"  were  almost  her  first  words  of 
greeting. 

"It's  good  news,  Maggie;  at  least,  I  hope  you'll  find 
It  so;  but  I'll  teU  you  when  Leslie  comes.  In  the  mean 
while  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you." 

f  ,'.i^^"'.f^  '*■"     "^"^"^^  ^*^  ^«^If.  '«^th  hands 
tolded  and  feet  crossed,  she  looked  up  at  him. 

There  were  points  of  view  from  which  she  was  not  the 
Maggie  Palliser  of  three  months  before.  Mental  suffering 
had  subdued  her  color  and  deepened  the  lines  of  her  face- 
out  through  being  less  blowsy  she  was  less  pronounced' 
and  through  be-.ng  less  pronounced  she  was  gentler  and 
not  so  masterful. 

Bainbridge  did  not  sit  do-..n.  He  stood  over  her  in  an 
attitude  of  authority.  "  You're  going  to  get  a  new  chance 
276 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

now,  Maggie,  to  see  Leslie  in  another  light,  and  I  do  hope 
you'll  make  good  use  of  it.    I've  told  you  all  along  vou 
were  not  just  to  him—" 
"Has  he  been  just  to  me?" 

"  Perhaps  not :  but  try  what  being  just  to  him  will  do  in 
.ne  way  of  making  him  so.  A  man  is  most  likely  to  put 
his  wne's  claims  first  when  she  does  the  same  with  his." 
Wait  till  you're  married  yourself— and  you'll  see." 
"I  hoi*  to;  but  for  the  minute  we're  not  so  much 
ocCTipied  with  me  as  with  you.  I  want  you  to  be  generous 
to  Leslie — 

•   'IP^t^f'   ^5" '"y  ^ear  man.  there  isn't  a  woman 
in  New  York  who's  been  more—" 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know.  You've  supplied  him  with  ash 
and  so  long  as  he  was  willing  to  lick  your  hand,  vc  ..-er^ 
ready  to  do  it.  But  that's  not  enough.  You  must  give 
hun  not  only  aU  you  have,  but  all  you  are.  You  mu^t  do 
It  once  for  all;  you  must  keep  nothing  back.  You  and 
everything  you  possess  are  to  be  his.  There  must  be  no 
more  doling  out.  He  must  be  master.  For  the  very  reason 
that  you  re  a  big,  strong,  wealthy,  dominating  woman 
you  must  make  yourself  humble  and  small  and  obedient-" 
She  laughed  in  his  face.  "I've  heard  of  a  camel  going 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle—" 

"Which  was  said  to  be  an  easier  task  than  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  I'm  afraid  it 
applies  to  a  rich  woman,  too.  You  know,  Maggie,  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  in  some  other  world;  it's  in 
this.  If  you're  going  to  enter  it  you've  got  to  enter  it  now. 
^or  husbands  and  wives  a  large  part  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  in  what  they  can  find  in  each  other." 

Her  eyes  were  brimming  as  she  said:    "If  LesUe  had 
only  been  willing  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  have— " 
277 


\\ 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"You  see,  Maggie,  you've  been  in  a  position  to  dictate 
all  the  terms;  and  you've  dictated  them.  You've  niever 
taken  into  consideration  the  fact  that  Leslie  is  a  scholar 
and  an  artist,  that  he's  sensitively  independent,  and  that 
the  one  thing  under  which  he's  restive  is  rule.  Your  in- 
stinct is  to  rule,  and  you've  ruled  him.  That  is,  you've 
ruled  him  in  his  outward  conduct,  while  his  spirit  has 
been  nules  away  from  you.  I've  heard  you  say  that 
something  had  come  betwe'-n  you  and  you  didn't  know 
what  it  was — " 

"I  do  now.    It  was  other  women." 

"Wait  till  you  hear  what  I've  got  to  tell  you.  In  the 
mean  time  let  me  go  on.  You  could  give  orders  to  Leslie, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  obey  you,  because  he  had  no  money 
of  his  own.  You  used  the  advantage  your  money  gave 
you  to  keep  him  on  a  string.  But  you  could  only  keep 
his  body  on  a  string;  the  real  Leslie,  as  you  felt  acctu^tely 
enough,  escaped  you.  It's  the  real  Leslie  you  need  for 
your  happiness,  and  so  long  as  you  keep  him  tied  you'll 
never  have  him.    Oh,  Maggie,  let  him  go  free—" 

"But  I  teU  you  he  is  free." 

"  In  this  house  he's  just  as  free  as  I  am." 

"Well?    Aren't  you  our  dearest  friend—?" 

"Exactiy;  and  Leslie  is  in  precisely  the  same  place. 
The  other  night,  for  instance,  when  you  offered  to  send 
me  home  in  one  of  the  motors  because  of  the  storm,  I 
wasn't  to  tell  Leslie  if  I  wanted  it;  1  was  to  tell  you. 
Leslie  was  here  in  the  room  with  me,  and  you  were  up- 
stairs; but  I  was  to  send  a  servant,  or  do  something  like 
that—  No,  no;  let  me  go  on.  That's  a  small  thing;  but 
it's  significant.  It's  an  illustration  of  the  way  Leslie  has 
lived  with  you  for  nearly  ten  years.  He's  been  a  superior 
lackey — " 


"I've  been  talking 
Her  query  was  the 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

J^\^^f  °"''  "^  ^^""^  ^^y  ''ho  hasn't  hesi- 

N^ZS'  "'  '  '-«""«-*«^  -  half  the  paiil 

'•Not  Imlf  the  newspapers  in  New  York,  but  one  paoer 

They  stood  confronting  each  other, 
to  the  writer  of  the  paragraphs." 

Maggie  drew  a  long,  deep  breath 
same  as  Clorinda's.    "  Well  ?" 

IT.  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  from  its  contents 
•Sd  that^"*  "'''*  '^  "^"'^^  ^  ^y  hef^heJ 

She  read  it  dowly.  Having  finished  it,  she  dropped 
back  mto  her  chair  to  read  it  the  second  time.  "  W^U 
Arthur  you  do  beat  everything,"  was  her  only  comment 
as,  withou  Mting  her  eyes,  she  began  on  a  thkdT^ 
It  was  only  on  completing  that  that  she  loSTto 
say,  "What  on  earth  do  you  make  of  it?"  ^ 

He  drew  up  a  small  chair,  on  which  he  sat  sidewise 
h^  arm  on  the  back.  "I  make  this.  The  paper  ^S 
he  paragraph  to  which  you  objected  ap^^Ts  mo2 

In  ;  ^,^^"  -i'  ^  '""**  ^  Americans  like.  In  it  we're 
a^  handled  without  gloves  just  to  see  how  v^i  ^^ 
I  s  not  meant  to  be  taken  seriously,  and  nine  SJZt 

tTJ^w  f"''^-  I*'«°-fon»ofcaricatureSS 
sort  of  thing  done  in  Prance  or  England  by  SoHr  q^ 

orMaxBeerbohm.  I  can't  say  that'l'm  enthuSri  f^ 
wnat  I  say-not  m  mtention.    Where  it  can  play  the 

270 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

mischief  is  where  it  accidentally  stumbles  on  a  bit  of  too 
poignant  truth." 
"Accidentally?    I  like  that." 

"It  was  accidentally  in  your  case.    The  writer  told 
me  so." 
"Who  was  it?" 

He  considered.    "It  was  some  one  who  has  no  more 
personal  ill  will  toward  you  than  Spy  toward  the  Enghsh 
Statesmen  he's  drawn  so  amusingly." 
"Was  it  any  one  I  know?" 

"That  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you.  Ill  say  only  this, 
that  It's  some  one  who  has  to  earn  a  Hving,  and  this  ap- 
parently is  the  obvious  way.  I  don't  defend  it,  but  then 
I  don't  condemn  it.  It's  a  big  world,  and  if  we're  going 
to  make  the  best  of  it  we  must  let  the  principle  of  Uve  and 
let  Uve  be  something  of  a  guide.  It's  enough  to  say  that 
you  were  taken,  not  maliciously,  but  simply  as  a  person 
conspicuous  in  New  York  society,  and  made  to  serve  your 
turn.  Other  people  had  served  theirs,  and  yours  had 
come  round.  The  main  point  is  that  if  you  hadn't  given 
a  handle  by— now  don't  be  offended,  Maggie!— I'm  going 
to  speak  straight  out!— if  you  hadn't  given  a  handle  by 
lettmg  your  temper  and  your  wiUuhiess  become  ahnost  a 
byword  in  the  town—" 

"The  main  point  is  that  if  LesUe  hadn't  taken  up  with 
some  other  woman  sonotoriouslythat  everybody  knewit—" 
"No;  that  isn't  a  point  at  all,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  as  far  as  the  writer  was  concerned  it  was  pure  in- 
vention." He  continued  the  use  of  Clorinda's  pronoun. 
"They  told  me  so." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  her  eyes  almost  starting  from 
her  'isad.  "Arthur,  for  goodness'  sake,  what  are  you~ 
talking  about?" 

180 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"I'm  simply  telling  you  what  the  writer  told  me-that 
the  dark-eyed  woman  was  merely  dragged  in  to  make 
drama.  You  <^  see  for  yourself  that  a  story  in  which 
there  was  no  third  person,  in  which  you  and  LesUe  had 
It  aU  to  yourselves,  would  have  lacked  spice;  and  so 
Clonnda  Gildersleeve  was  introduced  to  make—" 

Maggie  shouted.    "Whatf" 

"The  writer  had  passed  Clorinda's  house  and  seen 

fi^l  T"^  out-twice.  if  I  remember  rightly-and 
thereby  hung  the  tale."  s     /       .u 

"Oh.  my  God!"  She  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair 
while  a  big  explosive  laugh  sh«,k  her  person,  and  rang 
through  the  room.  "Clorindaand  LesUe!  Oh.  Lonl.  how 
long!    ^o!    No!   That's  too  funny!" 

The  effect  was  what  he  had  hoped  to  produce.  "And 
It  s  aU  there  is  to  it^s  far  as  the  paragraphs  are  con- 
cerned. I  ve  the  writer's  own  word  for  it.  and  I  know 
It  s  true.  They  were  going  by  in  Madison  Avenue,  and 
I^ie  was  coming  down  the  steps.  Then,  some  two 
months  later,  the  same  thing  happened,  and—" 

"Does  Clmnda  know?"  Maggie  could  hardly  control 
her  mirth  sufficiently  to  get  the  question  out 

"  No  I  saw  her  to^y.  but  I  didn't  tell  her.  Possibly 
10^^°*'    "*''**'^8^a«°otto-PPearany 

She  exploded  again.  "Pouffl  We  must  tell  LesUe- 
we  simply  must.    Qorinda  gets  on  his  nerves—" 

"Then  mightn't  it  be  wise  for  that  reason  not  to  say 
anythmg  about  it?    If  you  and  I  know,  may  it  not  be 
just  as  weU  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie?" 
Maggie  fairly  shook.    "Yes,  but  the  joke  of  it?" 

He  might  not  enjoy  it  as  much  as  we." 
"Do  you  mean  that  we're  to  keep  it  to  ourselves?" 
'  281 


I 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


■iT^s  r^r-'"  «-«  -  the  anns  of  her  cHair. 

thl'^!!""  "^  ^^"'t^' and  began  to  think.  He  had 
the  better  opportunity  for  the  i,«son  that  Magrie  w2 
rocking  m  a  new  outburst  of  hilarity  ^^ 

Leslie  and  Clorinda!    No,  ifs  t-o  funny!    men  IVe 

She  quieted  down.    "Who.?    Leslie?" 

"If  you'd  only  given  him  his  head,  Maggie   and  let 

was  most  concerned  with  was  thequestiras  to^etht^ 
or  not  the  leading  he  expected  was  to  be  gi^trf  h^ 

dev^c«  which,  rf  It  contmued.  meant  that  he  would  Z 
with  Leshe  as  he  had  failed  with  Clorinda.  It  was  to 
gam  tune  m  feeling  the  way  in  which  to  deal  wirthS 

wa^'cZiSlT^'  ''°"^'  *°  ^^  '^''  ^  f^  as  Maggie 
.^«  ^ T?^^.'  *  ''^  ^^°«  l>y  his  ai^uments  ^e 
dea  tha  Leshe  was  in  love  with  her.  ^^ZTSvealS 
the  fact  to  some  one  else,  had  not  been  without  ite  ^eS 
If  not  won  by  ,t,  she  was  softened.    That  which  wis  m^t 

283 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 


t™ly  Maggie  Palliser  was  nniv  f~,      j 

any  terms  that™I^w^.*°°f^^  *°  ""^'"^^^  °n 

Jess  innSTn^e  LS.^^rh'^^'^-^^^^- 
romance.    The  shots  wei^awi?^,*  '"''^^  °f 
hannlessly  away  fn^Th^L'Se^St'lr '^^^ 
joints  ill  their  harness     It  ,Jc  7    .u         *  ^"^  ^^^k 
Maggie  in  particular  to  ^  ^1^"^  '""'■  ^'^  f^ 
for  the  future  and  n4de  ^rZ-         ^°'  ^^  '""'ded 
"Oh.    well,    if  it^L^^I^V'f'^^h  easy  attack. 
Maggie  exclaimed    ioXir-li""^   Gildersleeve." 
^on^  Clorinda  is  feXw '     ^  j=^  ^""^^^  hi"-     Of 

certain chan.-a^ytt'l'SS-lwrf.  ^'^'^  '^^^  ^ 
look  at  her  the  second  time  TIT  ^    f"'"*  ^°^^^'^ 
of  mine.    We've  TplySo  1l    "^  *  ^  ^"'^  °^  «>"^" 
one  wouldn't  be.  ^S  de^.l^  ^  t*'*      ''"'•    ^°'  ^'^^^ 
so  moony  and  half-Sk2^°  3!     ''T/  f  ""  *■"*  ^^^^'^ 
overthat.    Who  thelJSns  ^SX  If  ^1  "^"^  «^* 
"P  such  a  yam?   Som.^^^i^'^,'^''^\'^^^ 
Wrenn.?    It  aw     I've  al^o,        -i^/        Was  it  Bessie 
do  with  repo^    H^  i.  ^   "^^  "^^  ^  ^ething  to 
columnsl^AS^e'fL^cZ^'  "T  °"*  °'  ^''^  ^^ 
but  Clorinda  does  1  hSe^Hff T*'^  ^  "^""'^  ^^o'^-' 
«  the  air.    Tl^  ^^  '^*^'  "^^^  bead's  so  much 
her  when  all  thr;tW  ^Z""  "^^^"^^^  '«^'  °"'  of 
fo.L^.andh«^S.r,2-^;::^ti„;butas 

He  smiled,  perhaps  uneasily 
283 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"What  do  you  mean  by  after  all?" 
She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  the  question.    "What 
about  the  other  man— the  Canadian?" 
"WeU,  what  about  him?" 

The  answer  came  slowly,  and  somewhat  doubtfully. 
Oh,  I  don't  know— nothing,  I  suppose." 
"Then  why  did  you  ask?" 

"Oh    for  no  reason.    On  general  principles.     With 
Clonnda — 
''Yes,  Maggie?    With  aorinda--what?" 
"Nothing,  nothing.    Only  one  never  knows  which  wav 
the  cat's  going  to  jump." 

"Did  you  expect  it  to  jump  that  way-the  way  of 
Malcohn  Grant?" 

"Good  Lord!  man,  how  can  I  tell?  It  hasn't  jumped 
that  way,  so  let's  be  thankful."  She  sprang  from  her 
seat.  'I'm  gomg  to  kiss  you,  Arthur.  No;  sit  still," 
she  commanded,  as  he  struggled  from  his  chair.  "  There '" 
A  smack  resounded  on  each  of  his  cheeks  brfore  she  al- 
towed  him  to  rise.  "That's  to  wish  you  luck  and  to 
thank  you  for  all  the  good  you've  dcme  me.  I'm  going  to 
try  to  foUow  your  advice.  Not  that  it  isn't  all  imagina- 
tion, what  you  think  about  my  attitude  toward  LesHe 
Stuff  and  nonsense  it  really  is.  I've  never  tried  to  rule 
anybody  in  my  life — " 
"You've  just  done  it." 

"But  if  it's  going  to  make  Leslie  any  happier  I'll  go  to 
him  for  every  penny  I  ipend,  and  make  him  believe  that 
It  s  his  own  hard  earnings.  And  as  for  you,  Arthur  dear 
If  Clonnda  does  marry  you,  she-U  make  you  a  wonderful 
wife — m  her  way." 

The  smile  with  which  she  now  rega.-ded  him  was  so 
maternal  and  sympathetic  and  mouraful  that  he  found  it 
284 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

^.possible  to  hide  the  trouble  it  inspimL     "Maarie. 
what  makes  you  so  doubtful?"  «i«ggie, 

;Tm  not  doubtful.    I'm  onlj^-wondering.- 
Wor.'.ering  what?" 

"Wondering.  I  suppose,  what  Qorinda  will  do  aert." 

Is  she  so  capndous?" 
"No.    I  shouldn't  say  she  was  capndous." 
_  Irresponsibie,  then,  or  inconsequential?" 

No;  neither  of  them." 
"Then  what?" 

knnw  ^^J^l^.^  hands-  "Good  Lordf  man,  I  don't 
kiiow.  But  she's  not  hke  other  people.  She's  a  rek^ 
of  mme.  and  I've  known  her  all  &e4n^d  S^^ 
late  yean,  V^  known  her  v«y  wen  M^fJ^ 
don-tknowheratalL  That's fl^t.  She's am^  ^ 
t^T,^'^.^^  ^  *^*  'hen  you  ^Kd  S 
!^v^oL  T.^"^"*^'**^^  When,  she  is  H«^ 
on^y  knows  I've  never  been  able  to  find  her." 
But  if  I  have?" 

"  Then  you're  ludder  than  most  of  ts.    Who's  the  n«- 

Te  S^S^.  *f  r^  ^*°  water^^Tet  S^' 
<»ietned  to  seize  hmi?   WeU,  die's  a  Kttle  like  that    Whl 
she  cUdn^  many  Malcolm  G«nt  in  the  fi^p,^.^^ 
.,^'<^°y°"n>eaa  by  the  firet  place?" 

"K,h^^T-   ^'"«°''h«  she  made  us  all  think-" 
It  she  had  her  reasons—"  ^^ 

'ihJt\f^^^^'^^^°^^  She  always  has.  But  .  " 
y^  lS°";'S't'"'t*-  :^y^^-  Arthur  I-sh 
cZo^yJ  *^*  ^^  but  that  if  it  had  been  Mary 

'■Don't  Maggie,  don't,"  he  cried,  as  he  held  her  hands. 

Only,    she  added,  reflectively,  "a  maniage  in  wWch  one 
2Ss 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


^^Xl^  I^LT'*  ^--  ^  ^t?  It  .ust  .ean 
hadn't  kept  me  o^e  t,  T'  '°'^'^  °^  ''•  ^  Ledie 
soexdtia?;  aadrdli^^Jg^?!','^'*  have  been  half 

t«tt  alone,  he  was  able  bv  shew-  ,^,»,*  .  r 
into  the  background  theZ^T  ^^  ^"''^  *°  *hrust 

«ate  ClorindHZ  Z^l  "^^^'^^  «emed  to  sep- 
must  take  pLlS^hL  Tf"**  ''''  ^«  «^t 
came  into  th^^^l  ^  ^"^  ^"^  ^^^ 
Each  would  k^SoTll.  ""f"  ^'^^  *''«  °*er. 
^e  woman  mel^  IS?^  ""^  "'^^'  ^»>^t  the 

have  to  talk  ^^1^"^"^**°"^-    They  would 

B«,e-s  present  pfwi^rSs1t'^'"^  ^"  '^^-'^ 

B«^To:d^  rr^,^  i^^  - -<".,tni. 

•^ho- he  mui  m^t  Wld  W^^  "'^'^  "-^^^  *^« 
Keepbg°S^";L^^-^  J^  ^''^  »8°°^g  thing, 
there  was  nothing  tT^^\^  "^^'^^  ^  P^^^le, 
witho-.tsomu<^'ifhiLt  ^^^.'^^'^-^^i-tion. 
suggestion  were  to  be  v«^t,  *Tu'.*  ^PP^^^d,  and  no 
either  to  utter  mSiXZ?  ^'"'  ""'  ^"^^^  »^^« 
Suddenly  he  ZZt^f/^^^^  °'  ^e  dumb. 

«yspeech'wLirih^„r:i'"f-~'"^-  -And 

^t  in  demonstration  onTSt'^tf^l''''^^ 
286 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


?Cr!  ,?*  "^  ""^^  "^^  ^  hoping  for 
^^foUow  the  kindest  coui^-^  '"■ 

exSw^  •«---- than  reminiscent  of  a  ^ 

Tbey  foUowed  hJ^^Zt^^V^'  """ther-tong^e 

"Vie  with  one^ott^.         ^  ^^^  ^"»°  «  ^fe. 
"Ending  his  ow^S^^'^^'*'  '°'  P^"*-  «v«y  one 

'■Let  every  one  be  quick  to  hear.  Uow  to  sceak  " 
^^have  compassion  on  the  multitu^d^TSte  ccm- 

I  sS..^°^  *•-*  ^  P"«eth  into  my  month  that  shaH 

^this.    Ea^^Xr^t^h'^hisinfe^^ 
"The  woid  that  God  putt^th  ,^  ^*  «na2«ne„t. 

speak"-^d  GodXfSnsa^*?     1""°^'^  '^^'  *^  I 
silence,  and  an  eloqu^t    He  H^    KT  ^  '^P'^^^e 
He  was  putting  ^h«  ™  L^i^^  ""^"^^  ^«»"  the  rccm. 

It  was  Maggie's  voice  Lffl^      ^f.'  ''^  ''^'^  «  ^°>^- 

■Maggie  was  speakine  amir,     xi- ' 
rinda's  were  aU  bTS    P.  »,     -fT  "^"  "^-^  ^1°- 
e  caught.  ^Hehumed  to  the  door.    His 


:^  If 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

hand  WM  actuafly  on  the  knob  when  he  heard  tn  ine- 
preaable  exclamation  from  Leslie.  Was  it  a  laugh  or  an 
«th  or  an  expression  of  incredulity?  He  didn't  know 
He  wanted  not  to  kno„--never  to  know.  He  was  out  in 
J^L"^^  *'^«''*  °^  ^^^  °*y  ''^thout  knowing. 

dooi  rf,^  tj^^  r^.^  '*"'^°«  on  the  steps  with  the 
d«>r  shut  behind  hun  did  the  perspiration  hitsak  out  on 

he  h^  escaped  a  danger.    If  so.  it  was  the  danger  of 
speaking--when  silence  was  of  God. 

He  saw  then  what  he  had  not  seen  hitherto.  The 
^h^'!!,'^*?wu''?^=  but  he  was  not.  He  must  drain 
2^^-thl,-  T"  *°^'  '•^•^  *^^  ^^  *°  be- left 
tt^^  i^**^*"*^-  **^e ''as  not  to  know  more 
than  she  toew  already-flor  Lesli^or  Clorinda.  a^ 
Si    r  ^/Z^^y'^^-    He  was  to  carry  all  three  of 

t^^T^  ^  "^"^  ~  "^y  "^"^  *^  the  past 
four  or  five  yea»— in  his  heart. 

So  be  it;  he  wa3  ready;  he  was  able;  it  was  obviously 

rff ;  "5  !t  ^  r^*  down  the  steps  and  made  his  way 
d^ly  and  ti^oughtfully  toward  a  splendid  wintry  sunset 
tte  mner  ved  seemed,  if  not  actually  lifted,  a  littte  farther 


CHAPTER  XX 


IN  the  end  the  pressure  of  many  considerations  forced 
*  Bainbridge's  consent  to  a  marriage  before  Lent. 
What  reluctance  he  felt  was  on  Clorinda's  account;  and 
yet  her  persisting  eagerness  produced  its  effect  on  him. 
She  made  him  feel  like  a  man  holding  open  a  door  to  one 
who  was  running  from  a  danger.  The  existence  of  the 
danger  coming  to  be  admitted  by  both,  she  persuaded 
him  that  once  she  was  within  the  shelter  he  commanded 
there  would  be  nothing  more  to  fear. 

Then,  too,  he  began  to  realize  that,  after  all,  Leslie 
Palliser  had  been  right.  People  did  seem,  at  heart,  to 
be  in  favor  of  the  ceUbacy  of  the  clergy.  The  announce- 
ment of  his  engagement  came  to  the  members  <rf  St.  Mary 
Magdalen's  as  a  shock.  They  had  loved  and  honored 
him;  he  had  been  theirs  and  they  had  been  his.  They 
had  felt  in  him  an  ownership  to  which  they  had  never 
pretended  in  the  case  of  Doctor  Galloway,  on  whom  Mrs. 
Galloway  and  Mary  had  a  complete  proprietary  lien. 

Now  there  had  come  a  coldness  of  which  Bainbridge 
had  been  made  aware  from  the  morning  on  which  Clo- 
rinda's notes  of  announcement  had  been  received.  The 
congratulations  otfered  him  were  worded  neatly  enough, 
but  behind  them  he  rarely  failed  to  notice  an  undertone 
of  reserve.  Had  his  choice  fallen  on  one  of  their  own  they 
might  ha\e  felt  differently;  had  it  been  Mary  Galloway, 
289 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


fl,ii'' 


^''n't  feel  that  he  or  she  Z^^  ''?«'  ^^  ^'^  ^ho 
-"  whose  legal  rieht  thL  »  dispossessed  by  an 

^7  had  sixnily  ^'hSTaXlr "  °'  *^'«'-^ 
•aid.  ^  ™°  ""ere  was  no  more  to  be 

whl"^;  SrpTdpTer  hv£  •"  1!'  '^  ^'  "^"on-ty 
tte  first  of  huiCdu  L     S^  ""•'^  '"*""«  «^«  °ne  of 
«.ent.  they  p„t  the  mSt  chS"^^  ""^  '^PP^'"'- 
of  affairs.    That  their  W?v^frr*°°"'«'««wt«™ 
aently  fallible  to  be  caXSl  hv  ^^^""^^  ^  suffi- 
of  them  knew  slightly  Indv^^'^  ^  ^°°^  ^^"^  n>ost 
as  svrange.  elusiv?  i^o^^^l^^^^'P^'^  to  regari 
paean  chann,  but  r^STio^"^^*^  »  ^«« 
bent  their  own  necks-S^f  ^"^  *°  '"hich  they 

«f  f-f  expe„-:^iS;i^L^r"-"-ion- 
the  least  possible  comment  TnKr  ^'"^  ^^^ 
there  was  no  small  number  who  Lwv  ^  Magdalen's 
««.gned  themselves  as  v^Z^  ^\""''  ***"'^  «°d  '^ho 

Others  were  m<«,Tr»r^^  ""^  '''•*"  "  '^ader  faife 
had  been  onToTTefcT^T;-  ^"- E"<l^«Sh  jtltt 
?'-  with  you  Z^J.^^'^^  ^006  wish« 
«he  had  declared.  boUi^i^t^„  J^-  Bainbridge," 
^^gtng  it,  "and  with  cLtS,  *  ^r^^  °^  here  and 
« I  do.  I  can  see  wCoS^±:.^°- ,^°-^  you  both 
y°«'ll  be  right  in  ignoZ^^*'ff^I^°''-I-b«^ 
people  are  making.    I  ^^1'  **  ^^^^  and  talk  that 

nonsensetoSse^^^tS'^^'fr'^'  ''""^  *£ 

as  good  as  fallen  ouT^th SL^'  ^°  ^'^  *^°^'  I've  ' 

heard  her.    Any  one  S  IL  ^  ""^^^  have 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

you've  ch«en  soj^t^l^;^^^?^-'^^^^^ 
of.  and  whom  they  don't  lkIL?,.l    ^    °^'  *"''  J«^°"« 

«>- 1'^  p-inrwSoi;t^;tr'""^*'^-'>'-^ 
JeirBr^-d^e^L^^i^"^^^^^^ 

all  had  such  hard  work  to^-IH     '"r'^'^'y-    "^"^'^ 
can't  afford  to  have^vtLl^^  n^  i*""  P^"*  *^t  '^ 

Not  th^t  I'm  h£,^^^£  d^bi^r  r^ 

one  ,s.  wanner  friend  to  her  tTnTai^t  71       ^'^ 
understand.    I  tell  i^.^  „„  Tu  .   f°*^«>t  I  Imow  you 

of  tmth  in  it-tJa  oTS^t^      "^*  ""^'^  »°*  "^  ^U«ble 

one  who  can^  trLtJL  ;       ,,!"  *'  ''""'^  y°"'«  '^e 

not  auU^ori^S^^^^rcTSo?"'  ^.'"^  ^  ^'- 
an  «d     l^plSr^  '*'  ^.^r  *•-'  "-^e  would  put 

Mary  Gallcwav     ThJ  .T,    •      .^"'^  ^  exception  of 
391  " 


II 


mj 


h 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

that  Leslie  had  been  right  "  '^  '^  *«>  P««ivb 

As  for  Leslie,  he  had  met  him  onlv  on«.  «-„~  *i.    j 
on  which  the  engagement  had^rL^.^*^"^^ 

S^S^k!^'^  P-t'callyTZSa^^lS 

-."  s4^S.^2"h^^  ^w^frlS^xtlS- 
keep  it  to  myself  "  «  was  so  good  I  couldn't 

said-he  was  as  mad  asTh^lfT   i*  7^.^*  ^  y°" 
^;^Wco„rtrei^^-,J^--^e 

the  difficult  t^s^fSst^SSeriTt'*  ZT  °' 

befS^T■c™'5  ii^do^r^er  i^r^r^^fr 

could  use  the  worrt  t,„™lT    ,•     !^'    ^o^unately— he 

i«i».  wo*, -God  to  !»„»  ^  r  pS.^^2 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

&)dal«,eshaUknow"  Bainbridge  was  happy  to  let  it 
be  so  It  was  not  only  easiest,  it  was  best  LesUe  and 
Cl«^da  would  thus  be  able  to  meet  as  theyS  bS 
meeting  m  the  past  three  years,  with  their  seSet  tetw^ 
them  not  suspecting  that  it  was  shai«i.    If  hy^S^Z 

^^f  ir;°  ^ZT'  than  he  or  she  h^^S^^ 
already,  it  would  only  be  himself. 

nf  ^u^  M  ^f  °°  ^^^  "^^  unexpectedly  in  the  Kbrarv 

^dSlt^Hhe^''^'^^^  It  was  that  hour  iJ^ 
mddle  of  the  afternoon  when  one  set  of  members  had 
gone  and  anofter  ret  hadn't  come,  and  in  theirTnd^ 
the  big  ro<»n  they  were  face  to  face  and  alone.    Baintad^ 

S^rtff  X^  ^  ^"*  °^  *«  <*^  ^here  Leslif^ 
stretched  with  a  book.  The  latter  looked  up  with  a  stl^ 
with  a  start  Bainbridge  stood  stiU  P '""i  a  start, 

hi'lf  ^^^^l  "^^^  ^^  ^^  P^  '  ■  idi  the  latter 
had  dreaded.  At  sight  of  Leslie's  taU,  languid  fo^Z 
the  easy  fashionable  clothes  whici  Maggie-fSmr^S 

nent.  umfoim  tan-^t  sight  of  his  dreamy  eyes  wiSr 
Jshes  of  a  length  and  a  beauty  which  shidd'^nevrb^g 

the  sudden  dectnc  force  which  had  impelled  this  manto 
Clonnda  and  Clorinda  to  him.  i--'      tms  man  w> 

totilJe'hS;;?"*'"!  °^  which'Bainbridge  had  studied 
^  T^f  r^  was  taxed  to  its  utmost  in  that 
second.  It  was  taxed  not  merely  to  hold  him  back  from 
spnnging  on  Uslie  with  the  lithe,  leopard-Uke  st^Z 

fS  ..^    ,  ^.*°°  '^°'''-  ''  ^^  *^«1  t°  keep  him 

fein  actively  and  consciously  hating  this  man  who  had 

been  his  most  intimate  friend  and  despising  him.    HeS 

393 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

since  Leslie  had  rivw  unhi^^  .^  !°"^  *^'  '^^ 
^own  hinJSg  to^le^^  at  Columbia,  ar>d  had 
Bainbridg«.  had  despiLd  hL  He  SttT'^'  ^ 
months  when  he  had  been  soJSnf  7  ,^  **""°«  ^''^ 
his  wife  and  endeavorinTt^  sounding  Leshe's  praises  to 

he  had  d4Sir\?,^,^r.'"*r"  *^' 
confessed  his  iniidehtv  tal^Z  "^^  ^^«  ^ 

stc^  of  an  a^  ?e*hrdiS;^^i?!'^  T^^  «^« 
spised  him  too  profoundlv7„^^  ^-  He  had  de- 
to  task.    B^  whTS  w    ^''^'^"^y  to  take  him 

in  contempt.  The  Z^ZJ^i  !  °"^*°  *  '""^'^  ^^ 
must  put  L  ofhis^^rif  ^^  '"^  "^"^S  both 
He  paused.  the^J^^^  ^  ^'  ^'T."'  ^*"- 
only  be  taken  as  frie;<S    "^"^  ""  ^  ^V  ^t  could 

H™^''"  y«"'^«  heard  the  newsr 
miSjI^iSriiSlt'^  ^"^  "^  ^e's 
the  stages  of  his  Si    S^°^^*^t^-^-^h 
however,  it  was  with™,fr=,--u-  PaUiser  spoke, 

of  sullen  un^^*°:fVr2^  T'  T^  "^^  ^  '^d 
and  now  thaT^u^e  bel  an^  ""'  ^?  ^"^  '^^  "^^^^J 
I  take  back  wh^ I^^^rofe^K^rd  '^'  T^' 
mg  of  anything  Hke  this-"  '^^    "  ^  "^  ^een  think- 

Bainbridge  laughed,  with  a  bittemes.<!  th=<. 
companion.    "Well,  what  then^"  ^^  ^ 

"I  should  have  been  more  careful." 
494 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Careful  in  what  way?  You  told  me  the  troth.  Peode 
are  takuig  It  just  as  you  said  they  would" 

'■But  I  shouldn't  have  seemed  like  one  of  them-as  I 
mus^^toyounow"  Bainbridge  could  see  him  summoning 
all  his  forces  to  help  out  his  little  comedy.  "Since  tZ°! 
what  you've  set  your  heart  on  I  sh.Jl  blck  y^up  o  d 
^y.  ^M^  ar^  I  ^  .t^  by  you.  wJtever'ic^s 

hri^fif  ff^^n^^  expressions  of  this  heartiness  Bain- 
bndge  thanked  his  friend  and  went  on  his  way.  But  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  appraising  LesUe's  state  of  mind  He 
r  ^i^h^l-  "^  ^u^  ^"^"^  ^y  '°"6«^-  "°  «»<«  than 

burnt  Itself  out  ong  ago.  If  Clorinda  had  been  mamZ 
any  ^e  else  Ushe  could  have  given  her  his  bless^^t 
this  pMbcular  mamage  shocked  him  to  the  core.  If  his 
an  had  no  other  punishment,  it  would  be  retribution 
enough  that  he  should  have  to  stand  still  and  let  ktZ 
place,  that  aU  his  life  he  should  have  to  look  on  at  t  atd 
say  nothmg.    It  would,  however,  make  it  easi^fe  C 

t^s:t '""'  "'^"  °""  '""^  -^«  --  ^  ^^^^ 

He  felt  the  same  toward  Malcohn  Grant,  who  had 
become  an  unquiet  presence  oddly  pervading  New  York 
Bambndge  met  him  everywhere,  not  only  because  they 
had  the^e  group  of  friends,  but  because  their  common 
undertakings  with  regard  to  the  European  war  threw 
them  together.  Beyond  the  fact  that  they  were  frequently 
m  the  same  room,  actual  contact  betw^  them  ^  rarj- 
but  actual  contact  was  not  needed  to  make  each  intenselv 

silence  between  them  said  more  than  words,  filled  as  it 
was  with  strange  understandings. 
29S 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Prom  Qorinda  he  gathered  that  it  was  the  same  with 
h«  She  too,  saw  Maloohn  Grant,  meeting  him  in  her 
path  whichever  way  she  turned.  Whether  this  was  from 
intention  on  his  side,  or  from  the  hazards  of  the  active  life 
they  were  leading,  she  didn't  know;  she  only  found  him 
there  not  the  less  disturbing  because  he  said  little,  and 
that  httle  of  no  seeming  importance.  Had  he  aimed  at 
weaving  a  speU  on  which  she  would  look  back  with  a 
thnU  even  while  she  ran  away  from  it  he  would  not  have 
borne  hunself  otherwise.  "You  and  I  were  made  for  each 
other,  he  seemed  to  assert  more  emphaticaUy  than  if  he 
had  used  the  words.  "In  marrying  any  one  else  you're 
false  to  your  real  destiny." 

She  was  so  conscious  of  it— Bainbridge  himself  was 
«.  conscious  of  it-that  they  ended  by  talking  of  it  plainly. 
She  seemed  mdeed  willing  to  talk  of  it;  it  became  a  relief 
to  her. 

"It  wouldn't  matter  even  if  it  were  true,"  she  declared, 
in  some  excitement.     "Nothing  would  ever  make  me 
change  my  mind.    You're  more  to  me,  Arthur,  than  any 
one  m  the  world  could  possibly  be,  after  aU  you've  done 
for  me.    As  for  him,  I  can  hardly  see  how  he  dares  to 
^  to  me,  or  so  much  as  to  look  at  me,  considering 
what  he  once  said.     If  you  only  knew!    And  it  wasn't 
merely  what  he  said-it  was  the  thought  behind  it-the 
thought  that  was  worse  than  the  words.    Possibly  I  de- 
served it-but  if  so,  it  was  the  very  fact  that  I  did  deserve 
It  that  made  it  so  unforgivable.    If  I  hadn't  deserved  it 
I  might  have  ascribed  it  to  a  man  who  had  temporarily 
lost  his  senses,  and  so  have  forgotten  it.    But  when  a 
woman  had  gone  as  far  toward  a  man  as  I'd  gone-yes  I 
admit  that!-and  stiU  he  couldn't  pity  her,  or  spare  her^ 
No,  ArthHr,  no!    The  only  reason  why  I  see  him  at  all  is 
2g6 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

to  minmiize  its  importance.   If  I  were  to  refuse  to  see  him 
he'd  know  he'd  given  me  a  death-blow." 

"A  man  must  mean  a  great  deal  to  a  woman  when  any- 
thing he  says  or  does  can  be  taken  by  her  as  a  death-blow." 
This  interpretation  of  her  words  took  her  by  surprise. 
She  gazed  at  him  a  moment  in  mild  consternation,  while 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  meet  the  charge  frankly.  "Well, 
he  did  mean  a  great  deal  to  me.  He  presented  a  way  of 
escape— the  kind  of  escape  I've  found  in  you.  You  must 
rem: , ,  iber  that  the  very  first  time  I  saw  you— that  wonder- 
ful afternoon!— I  let  you  see  that  it  was  in  that  way  I 
looked  on  a  second  marriage.  It  was  to  be  redemption  to 
me.  I  didn't  think  of  it  as  first  of  all  a  question  of  love- 
not  on  my  side.  I  was  ready  to  love  any  good  man  who'd 
be  sorry  for  me  as  you've  been,  and  perhaps  understand 
me  a  Httle.  I  couldn't  have  helped  loving  him,  not  any 
more  than  a  dog  can  help  loving  the  man  who  takes  it  in 
and  gives  it  food  and  drink  when  it's  lost  and  starving. 
Oh,  Arthur,"  she  broke  off,  tragically,  "marry  me.  Marry 
me  soon.  Your  Lent  will  come  round  in  a  Kttle  more  than 
afortn:"ght.  Let  it  be  before  then.  You  don't  know  how 
gratef  il  I'll  be  to  you,  how  I'll  cling  to  you  and  worship 
you.  ..." 

And  so  the  date  was  fixed  for  the  Monday  before  Ash- 
Wednesday,  and  made  known  only  to  the  Pallisers  and 
Galloways.  For  reasons  Bainbridge  was  never  able  to 
fathom  Qorinda  also  confided  the  secret  to  Malcohn 
Grant  by  means  of  Mary  Galloway,  after  which  two  un- 
quiet presences  obtruded  themselves  on  th  :  prospective 
bridegroom's  field  of  vision. 

For  the  first  time,  too,  they  began  to  roam  side  by  side. 
A  coahtion  between  Mary  Galloway  and  Malcohn  Grant 
was  so  unexpected  as  to  arouse  speculation.    Bainbridge 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

^«d  them  frequency  together.    Sometime,  it  w«  at 

SSf  =   sometmies  it  was  in  the  street;   therrwTa 

she  clung  to  the  only  woman  who  was  nL  W^     u 

iJunng  the  ten  davs  befot*.  T*„+  >,.  »*«"'■■ 

fh;o__o«Z         •  •      .        D«ore  ivent  he  was  struck  with 

concerned.  ^  ^^  Galloway  was 

w  Decause  they  had  been  summoned  to  the  telephone 
298 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

As  far  as  Bainbridge  had  observed,  neither  of  Mary's 
parents  had  ever  planned  anything  between  him  and  her 
or  had  betrayed  by  so  much  as  a  sigh  a  perception  that 
their  daughter  was  suffering.  They  had  asked  him  to 
their  Sunday-mght  supper  as  a  sign  of  infonnal  fareweU, 
and  had  asked  Clorinda  with  him.  Clorinda  had  declined 
on  the  ground  that,  the  ceremony  being  fixed  for  eight  the 
next  mormng,  she  needed  the  time  for  preparation  and 
rwt;  but  Bambndge  had  been  secretly  glad  of  this  friendly 
refuge  for  his  last  unmarried  evening,  especially  with  his 
accumulated  burden  of  thought.  In  other  dicumstances 
the  house  m  Sixty-ninth  Street  would  have  been  his 
natural  resort,  but  he  had  been  unable  as  yet  to  overcome 
a  sense  of  discomfort  in  going  there.  Nevertheless,  Maggie 
and  Leslie  were  to  be  at  the  service  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, as  neither  Leslie  nor  Qorinda  could  afford  to  have  it 
otherwise. 

"If  he  tells  you  things,"  Bainbridge  felt  himself  pro- 
voked to  say,  as  he  and  Mary  sat  in  the  glow  of  the  veUum 
shade  painted  in  fruits  and  flowers,  "it's  probably  in  the 
hope  that  you'll  repeat  them  to  Clorinda." 

"He's  never  said  so." 

"But  what  have  you  thought?" 

"Oh,  I've  thought  that." 

"And  have  you  done  it?" 

"Not  always." 

"But  sometimes." 

"When  I  saw  no  harm  in  it." 

"And  Clorinda — was  she  glad  or  sorry?" 

"If  there  was  anything  to  make  her  sorry  I  didn't 
tell  it." 

"So  that  he  said  things  that  made  her  glad.    Glad  in 
what  way?" 

agg 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

.^^•r^'^^y  ««  «^  he  «id  «,ight  b.pp«,  to 

;;ih*t^  *^«»  ^««  many  way.." 
■mere  were  some  ways  " 

they  have  been?"  ™^  **^  '^3'  would 

"IhaveaskJL.  sSt  aS'^^"^''"'' 
now-"  he  subjoined  the  wS.  "TS^'  ^  ""r 
odd  expression  that  nmn„,+-j  I-  ^^"  "  "^  her 
j^  say?"  prompted  bm  to  add,  "What  should 

shS  W?"*'  *"*  "'«*  y^  -y  y«««e«?    How 
"IfTt^IT'     '^°"  ^°  ^™ow,  don't  you?" 

thiil  S  TSyf:^"^  "^'^  ^^  ^.  do  you 

o4SSptt?Xf  S^''^^  --  -^«- 

-  ---.oin^r.' -,» -^^^^^ 

ruptS'ab^tly  "^^T  ""^  T-^^"  ^ainbridge  inter- 

on^Sso^g^-sbetSKr^^r-    ^^*'^ 
didn't  you?"  "™«™i:  ue  .lere.    You  knew  that, 

goJro^ve'^WaS^r''"""'^^^-    ««'^ 
«ft-  to^Je  hL^^«;™;  .  She  could  hardly 

"What's  he  giving  Sr         "^  '"'  '^'^■ 

300 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

And  she  s  going  to  take  *-hat  '" 
_a,e  couldn't  help  hei^  without  bemg  rude." 

at  Si  fl^^^'J?"  "^^  ""  "«P°^  ^ng  meditatively 
"  ™h  ^  ^J^ '"'  ^^"^  up  it  was  to  «y,  taZdv 

;'Ohyes    Not  as  weU  as  I  do  now,  but-" 

And  what  did  you  think?" 
She  tried  to  take  this  indiflferentlv     "Oh   4,,*  „i,  * 

"Did  this  pass?" 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

I  n^^^Sl  ^^  ^°":  ^^^  "^  ^  ^'^^  ^^  him  then. 
i^n  t  she  still  m  love  with  him  >" 

F^'^u^^  ^°f  "''•  """^S  *°  ^°*'»  spot  in  the  room 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not  going  to  be  married  for  love-  that 
-^he  subjomed.  "not  on  her  side-.ot  ^Z'l^ 

"But  if  she  calls  it  love—" 

"She  doesn't-^cept  with  qualifications  that  do  awav 
^^th^^meamngoftheword.    She's  marrying  m^^ 

"  But  if  it's  a  respect  so  deep—" 
301 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


i; 


He  laughed  aeain.    ••rn, 

•o  deep  but  wh«t-but  wWkLI^L?*^'  '^  3^  »«* 

tohiiifeet.hefoUo«ShrSL1l^*^"   ^^^-^ 

^eypiece,  where  th«  ZL^  T  ?"«  "=«'*  °^  «" 

He  hardly  knew  what  uiLTL    ^^°  ^  <«  her  face. 

to  express  had  tjt  ^  ^  ?.  ^*  '<»«»  he  wanted 

It  had  beenX:^e„r*br„^':  ^^  ^  nund  bef<S^ 

P«™itted  him  to  suSS^'i^     "m     *  '^y  ««*  had  ever 

«»«d  °'  her  nameTL  i™     ^'  **"  ""'"    ^t  the 

^  h««,.  She  sh^^LtS:  ^r-^^xl^r  cr 

What  s  the  matter  with  her  Testx^lZ      ,r  f^  '  ^^**^- 

"She  must  have  tallr<v4  *„ 
alwaystaiktos«^S?^^'^*'°«-     W<»»en 
more  of  us  than  we  teow  7^,  ^°"  T^^^  '"ow 
what  it  is  about  n«^-Srit  ITT^'''^-    ^^^''  *°''J  y^ 

was  gomg  through.  He  wbsJ^T  ^^  ^^^^^  she 
torn  out  her  to^e  t^^J^^  ^"^  "^'^^  have 
hinself,  that  not^  S^tteS^.^r^^  ^'"^'^  "^d 
by  her  position  oTtS,^^^ '"^l^^  ^i^  ber 
fluenced  her  to  speT    eST      ^"^  *''"™  aU  had  in- 

te^^  PantingrTshe^jr^e  tlT c2*'  ^  '^'^  °^ 
She  nev^  said  anything  to  m^bm  o^'" 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

didn^««y  what  it  wa»-*ad  I've  no  ide«-but  At  void 

useit-but  I  think  :t  wa»-too  leniently  " 
Too  lementlyr  he  cried.    "She  said  that?" 
Oh.  but  not  the  way  I'm  putting  it.    She  meant-T 
know  what  she  meant,"  she  stmggl,S  on   '-Z  TTZr 
do;  but  it's  hard  to  put  i„to3'^s^'«,^i^5';JJ 

I_gu^-and  he  almost-he  almost  tmmpled  her  under 
"And  she  liked  that  better?"   Somethmg  that  was  inHi., 

"No;  she  didn't  like  it  better;  she  only  thought-^h 

f2-^t.^rT       .  T  ^°'"«  *°  '"^  »  '''"^n  would 
teel— naturally-and  the  way  he  would  act-brutallv  «™, 

^t  ^asiS  T^  ^  "^^^y-^  -ch  drcumstait 
^_that-but  that  he  was  too  much-*oo  much  liki 

^sf.      And  she  didn't  want  to  many  God-^f  course 

"Oh,  don't  misunderstand  hei^— " 

Zf^f^'^fT^^  ^^-  ^  "^"^  partly  what-" 
.y.  I  ^u°'  ^"^  ^''-  ^^°^^y  having  appe^ed  on  the 
thr^hold,  he  was  obliged  to  br^  off.  mTXZ2 
endeavor  to  recapture  the  tone  of  ordinary  converitir 

TO  tne  door.    There  was  no  serious  leave-takine  nor  anv 

refer^ce  to  the  event  of  the  next  day  beyond'the  i^^ 

.03 


if 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

the  1^  S  h?^^rr^  ,*"«  ^«  -«.  ^called 
"A  woman  mfes^rnTti^'T  °' *  ^^^  P^^ 

y-lX^krjZr  ^'-^'^--e.pi^eC  her 

--was  he  too  S>"^e  G^^  *«^*-8  ^er  brutally? 

o^as^'^i-^-trtii^^^^^^^^ 

intensely  him«a  wwnan's  love?  ""  ""*^  '^ 


I  I 


CHAPTER  XXI 

this  himself  Se  rt^lii  n>a«  entrance.    He  did 

Cauti,^  S  becL?^     ^  ''^^  '*  "^'^  the  sexton. 

that  .^th^,^  *^^JT  "*r^  ^"^  *h«'  «^n 
Miss  Hi^2,t^^^  .^'"^y  ^^  periodical  to  which 

pubUc.  InlhrnSt^^fZ2l°^*°"«t°'^her 
faculty  for  pu^S^  id  tw^?°^^  **  ""^"^  ''« 
th^atenedLeifcTr^iToS."  '^  *''°"«''  '* 

of  devotion,  feS^  ^ ^"^Z  '^  "T  ^  "^^^ 
l««yer  was  to  know  himself  m  the  hand  of 


# 


I  i 


THE   LTFTED   VEIL 


vision,  shutting  J  thT^^pS^'f^^' ^"«-e«his 
^^<*  beyond  that  minuSilS^t"^  ^  *°  ^ 

■•IVe«St^^:£--£^r-act«..ora3. 
doing  my  best  to  s^  wlatl^lT^  *'^«  "^  '*  '^^^ 

^^^t'stTeit^^^i^r'  'l*^'  -^^^  «^e  wan 
'^^g  them  into  £^^T  ^ff  '^'^^^  '''^  ^ead, 
Jights  he  had  tum^rSr  ^71  '°V^^  "'^^  -  '-" 
and  nave  remained  dark  "^  '^°°'"  *^«  ^^cel 

lJeanamethyst,andanoth^*Sce?"r„"^°^''^  ^P°* 
like  an  emerald,  and  anoth^T^       ^^   '^'  ^nd  another 

^^  a  rivulet  of  ZCt^f!„r  *°Pif-  -d  mother 
picture;  they  waTl^tt^n^T  ^l^'  ^^  ^°^^  nc 
rich,  palpitatmglS^htrS  '"^f^*'  ^'^^  ^^  "o 
l^niinous  duUnL  of  ^dt?  '"'^'^  ^'"'^  ^th  the 
long  lain  ^ayless  in  thrS  """^"^  ''^'  '''^'  ^^^ 

fig^  of  a  :^ng  mi^.  ^'^~°'"  *  ""^  °^er  the 
1-eeling  woman's 'hS^'tJt"^^'."''"'  ^''^  ^  ^ 
pmple  shades  in  an  s^h^er^^'^lT'  ''°"  ^^^ 
pavement  on  which  it  sZd  thi  '  .^^^  ^^  ^^^ 
««  through  a  nnmdedSf'aLd  tT  ''.'  ^^'^^ 
It  aU  came  softly,  puirti^!'  ,2  '^P'*'™  *h«  ^■ 
«  sunrise,  it  remain^    ^^'  ^^  *  '"°^'  °°ly.  unlike 

It -mained  and  seemed^^live;  it  seemed  to  live  and 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

no  one  quite  lo.owingthel^.::,'^*-  SKwIST' 
wisdom  which  foresaw  that  a  woimn  not  thlT^  * 
cunous,  cxanplex  twentiefh^Z^^  ™  bom— a 

seemingly  whole-w'S^SVeTirjr*"''  "*  °°-' 
reserves-would  hr,vl  i,        •  ^t^ange,  unexpected 

brought  he^'H^dh'^^^j'^r  "^^  "^^ 
of  aFebruary  momfngl^ihw'^I^  '^  **■"  ^^  "s^t 

should  be^ndedaLrtW  Tf'^  '"  ^^"*3^  h« 
of  men  might  do  he  S^^d^'^t^j' a  wl' '^^  T°"*>' 
than  as  his  Master?  °°^  otherwise 

^tt'raiSrhiJtr  "*r*^'  ^-^  ^^^^ 
SVhtrr  ff"-  - -tTaif,-- 

cof oSrh*i%-s  r  s^'^-XedT 

pnde  and  simm«l  J,«-  ,..  "'■•uiy,  naa  outraged  her 

him  ^e  tuS"2  tfamr^lr."  T  1° 
revenged  on  him-  anH  t,J^  manymg  to  be 

him  4  inspi^  by^'si^  ^^  *°  ^.  -venged  on 
which  paid  noheed  ta^  ^^  ^"°^«  ^P"lses 
their  <Z^^     tV!l^  *^^*  that  they  defeated 

LXttd't~---^^^^ 

of  thoTard^t  rS^ed'lr*""^  '^'  "^  °°« 

^.  ^  -ways  ."tSt^jrsT^^^jS- 
307  * 


I  (' 


If' 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

either  to  be  raised  up  or  trampled  on-and  Derhana 

trampled  on  for  preference.  ""-ana  perJiaps 

But  the  light  quivered  and  beat  and  stole  on  the  senses 

rays.  Now  .t  was  the  polished  wrought  iron  of  the 
pulpit  st^;  now  it  was  the  symbolic  biazen  eagle  that 
^  up  the  Bible;  now  it  was  the  candlesticks  on  tlL  aS 

glowed  more  and  more  brighUy.    To  Bainbridge's  J^ 

Z  t^  T*  ""  '^"^  ^yP^"^  g^"g.  it  seeded' 
to  ^t^e  a  hvmg.  blading  thing,  like  the  Tight  of  tS 

His  musings,  in  as  far  as  they  were  conscious,  were  dis- 
turbed at  last  by  the  opemng  of  the  door  lea^^f^ 
the  porch  This  was  foUowed  by  a  whispering.  G^eS 
that  I^e  and  Maggie  had  arrived,  he  i^fiL  hSS 
and  w«,t  to  the  back  of  the  Chun*  to  greet  thr^^:^ 
d^ed  whatever  was  exalted  in  his  f:^e  of  mind  ^ 
brought  him  down  to  the  level  of  common  realities 

nor  even  ordinary  comfort. 

It  was  Maggie  who  remarked  that  the  chureh  was  cold 
1^  hiTf-f  ^^"^"^  *^  ^y  ^*  she  had  ever  se«^ 
Zti  L^Z"  "^yf^^  have  done  something  to 
S„I^  ^"^  ""  '^"^-  ^*  '°«ld  be  temble  if 
t^»t;^l^  "^^'  ^^^  *='"^''«'  ^yhow,  should 
take  a  worse  turn  agamst  them  now.  And  by  the  way 
who  s  coming  with  her.?  I've  thought  it  strange  that  slf^ 
shouldn't  ask  Leslie  to  give  her  away" 

Leslie  moved  off  to  read  the  inscription  on  a  tablet 
cZ,  T-  "^^  Bainbhdge  explained  that  it  was 

Clonndas  express  desm:  to  come  to  the  chureh  alone 
308 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

I;?i  -^  ^'^^  "^^  °«^  GaUoway  that  the 

to  hand  should  be  omitted.  A  woman  who.  like  Clorinda 
wa.  ^dependent  in  every  sense  of  the  wo;^  didn^^S 
to  be  given  away  "  by  any  one.  Maggie  shook  her  hS 
over  this  deviation  from  custom.  ="«"£  ner  Head 

"I  must  say  1  never  heard  of  a  bride  coming  to  the 
chur^  by  herself.    It  doesn't  seem  to  me  quite  d^t 

^lie^hr:^'/"  *^  "^  ^^  ^"^y  ^^  ^'^^^ 
Leshe   who  seems  to  me  the  most  proper  pereon-but 

^Zi^  "^  '°^'^  ''''  ^^-  '^h^  'he  cross  was 
W,    °^  r'T  *^^*  ^^^  PJ^Lenten  violet  hang- 

WeU   I  wyert    I  wonder  you  don't  have  some  one  to 
play  the  '  Dead  March '  in  '  Saul ' " 
Bainbridge  smiled  faintly.    He  was  curiously  numb 

Z^^:"^"^'-  H««^<i  hardly  believe  [hat7e 
supreme  hour  was  at  hand.    Clorinda  hei^elf  and  aU 

the  questions  she  raised  seemed  to  fade  away.  The  odd 
thing  was  that  he  should  be  there  at  all  in  that  Jr^r- 

f^^ZJ"""^^^^  ^^^  ^d  Leslie,  slighUy  iU- 
tempered  at  having  to  be  out  so  early,  should  bi  kip^g 
hrm  company^d  that  he  hadn't  had  his  breakfast 

Such  thoughts  as  these  were  in  his  mind  when  he  heard 
a  movement  m  the  vestry,  and  knew  that  Doctor  Galloway 

m  i^  T'-  .^"^^"  °"  "^  '°<"^^  huger  than  ever 
m  his  surphce  when  Bainbridge  entered  the  robing-room 
Th«r  greetmgs   were  brief,   their  inten»urse  ^c.' 

se^c^"  T!l°'^''  ^  "^"^  ^'"^  °^  thel^en 
TO«.  of  certam  meetings  at  which  Bainbridge's  place 
would  have  to  be  supplied  while  he  was  away,  there^ 
the  same  umxnnantic  feeling  that  had  pervaded  the  short 
309 


11 


r 

ill 


#^ 


^ 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Half-way  down  on  the  other  side  Mary  GaUo^y  was  ?„ 
It  vraa  what  Clorinda  had  wished.    She  orefernvl  t„  a 

^V:^  f  "°*'''"^  "^^  *h«  thing  she  ^t?d? 

mg  up  the  long,  empty  church      Dressed  n=  ,-f  7    .u 
street  in  some  rich  slide  of  MotiSTht  Z  *''! 

note  m  h^  c^tume  was  that  hSS '^^  ^^  ""S 

he  lll^ltd^S  '  ft  ^  Bainbridge's  a««.tion  as 
not  the  -eafu^S^U  rr^^^^a-^- 

^vS-totnJi";  ""*  -r  '-*-^  ~  wS 

.fo^i^te^-thtrrcrrrrr 
z^Xo'z^f,  trt  °^  ---"  td*^° 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

She  was  x^ting.  or  getti^  ^  ^Z^  *;°--t  Pe-- 
stances  it  was  doubtless  natumJ  tw  ^'  I  !^  °^"™- 
what  overeome  lL^u  J  *^  '''°^<^  ^e  some- 
the  PamS^  hS^LT''"  ^"^  ^^°--y  -r 
so  that  as  vetThe^v  1!^?"^  °'  '°°''«J  ^^^d. 
himself.       ^  ""^^  ''P*^'°^  ^^  the  rector  and 

nowle^^Stth^^^^T:'  ^^"  ^"^  -^'^^  ^«^- 
MaggiegJcedbl^'  °Ll^^  Tr'"*  '^^^' 
her  husband  a  p^"'fTZ^^°^'^^^'^^^^''S 
cried,  in  a  loud  ^L-  ^I  ^^^  "^"^  ^^^■"  ^'- 
Can't  you  see  she  s  nrwellt"  '°  ""'  ^"^  '"  ^°-  -«• 

toward  Clorinl,  ^tr^Lol^^uTv^'^^f. 

down  the  aisle  and  tt,o   *i.  ^®  °°^  hastened 

the^an^lteprbSi^rSX^^*"^^- 

he:,  in  the  Sht^dlSt'  re  SJ^T  *°^*'^" 
to  join  together  this  a>an^d"hiV^f  •  "'  ."^P^^ 
mony;   which  is  an  wT    u?         ^^^  *"  ^°^y  n^tri- 

m^ticaluniontSj^Sri^f^J^l-o  .  the 

so  violentfyCd  35^^Tan^:r  ^^  ^  ^sw^ ^e 
an  uMiense  pity  for  her     lU^TV!"  ^^*  ^^ 


It 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


dissuade  her  not'  t  ^d  W  h^""  *°°  "^^  ^ 
dissuade  her  at  any  time^  S^hStJ^'^'"'  *° 
and  whether  he  had  he«,  IT-  ,  ^  ''««'  ^o  inclined, 
impossible  to  t^  AU^c^d  ?"1  .?  "°  ''^  '°^^  '* 
recaU  the  words  h^hJ  1    **  **  ^"**^t  ^  to 

and  which  S;reita^?,t'"  *°  ''''«"«  ^-"t' 
quented  byways'She  tn^^*!™  ^^JJ^^^h  -fr- 

anything  for  a  woman-if  i^  H^'e.™  T^  !  '"''^  '^^  "^^ 
and  stn,ng  enouXH^i^  l^T  f*  '""'  ^""^^^ 
^eat  and  sac^dlow  ^^ets  t^  ^^t^Ts^ 
-nat,  come  what  micrT,*-  tu^  _  ^^'^  sort,  so 

should  find  hLTS^""^  rr^^^  -  ^-  -» 
wheeze  on.  ^®  '^'**°'"  continued  to 

they  nuy  n^^^^wf^r^^rtotti:  ^  ^^  ^"^^ 

ventic«.  BainbriS^*,.:^^^  J^«c  inter- 
tanly  he  glanced  at  ri^-  ^       .  ^       that  mvolun- 

like  a  lily  o^^  staS^f  ;.'^''^  '*^  ^^'^  ^"^  bowed 
witnesses  ^th^iZjT  """*^  *°^"''  '"^^  '^ 
ventional  m^  of^^^    f  ""^  maintained  the  con- 

stood  with™^iltiTK*^/^^*°'-  L-l'« 
was  studyiiJIhTS^^J^"^  ^^  ""^y-  ^  ^  ^^ 
GaUoway^^^^^.^-1  glass.     Man. 

hands  ^'*®-  ''^^  f««  buried  in  her 

312  "* 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


hearts  Shan  be  disclosed,  that  if  either  erf  v™.  i™_ 
impediment,  why  ye  rn^y  Z  lawSTh^-^J™'''  ^^ 
in  mtrimony  ye  do  nj^^^  "^  ''^  '^'^^ 

Again  Bainbridge  elaneed   i»,»,   *u  ^ 
expectation  at  thewoi^^^r!,    ^*  ™^°^  J^' 
'^e.    It  ^  pV^r^JlS  ^t «»°-'  the"*  to  be  his 

to  take  it  the^S^^ihV  w^f^Ters"  K*  ."^ 
would  then  be  freTTseize^tteln^  tf^:  "*■  ^"""^ 
hands-^en  though  tlTni^^^^'aS' ^  *  ^*' 
an  infusion  of  wormwood   ^^  ^"^  ^  ^« 

rn^Jt'^rZ.l  "ITl^:  ^Clorinda  made  no 
to  detach  her  wff^  ?  *'^"^'  ^«  ^"'^ed  him 
own.^Sc£  J^  diS  h«  arm  and  clasp  it  within  his 

see  thatX'wL  wtr^lh'th^^r  ^'  ""'  ^^ 

Se^2:£2Sa^ ----'' W 
as  the  rector^ tS^oT"  ""^  °^  «»^« 

estate  of  mati^.l  l^t^^  i:;^"ci;':  T' 
honor  and  keen  her  ;»,  «,vi_  7  '  comfort  her, 

saking  aaSsZ^^^f  ^^  ^  ''^*:  ^^  fori 
both  Si^  Uver  ^     **  "^^  '^*°  ^«-'  «>  W  as  ye 

c^SS  SSf^S^^  -^-  ^^It  that  the 
of  affirmation.^r^/'!^-^  ""  «ceptional  wannth 
■^^cessesofthechS.  '^  ^^S*"  *^«  I'oUow 

hu;'Srt'H:^'^^i^-J^ -an  to  thy  wedded 
holy  eslkt^.j!!?.*"^'*^"'  ^"^  ^s  ordinance  in  the 
"Wait." 
^The  word  was  whispered  so^faintly  that  the  old  rector 

3*3 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

didn't  hew  it.    He  had  already  begun  on  the  woM 
^^  Jait.    Somethmg's   the   matter.    She'»-she's   not 

"No'Z^nr  T^  '!^«  on  Wm.  as  if  about  to  faint. 
^No.Im  not  weU."  she  whispered.    "Imust-Imust  sit 

«n?f  T^"^  ^^  "^"^  ^'^^  ^«88i«'  ^th  a  smothered 
exclamation,  sprang  forward,  catching  her  as  she  S 
Between  them  they  led  her  the  few  steps  to  the  nS 
pew,  where  she  sat  down.  p    w  uie  nearest 

"Sen  r^'       '^'°P  "^**  "=^<=^'y  reacherher  I's 
inen  we  can  go  on.  '^ 

"Leslie,  run  into  the  vestry  and  get  a  glass  of  water  " 
ACaggie  commanded.  k  -^  oi  water, 

Leslie  ran,  and  during  the  minutes  of  his  absence 
Clonnda,  supported  by  Maggie,  endeavored  to  S^ 
without  succeedmg.  The  rector  had  descended^e 
s^s  ^d.  prayer-book  in  hand,  stood  loolS^d^t 
the  sufferer  sympathetically.  Mary  Galloway  iTl^ 
her  pew,  but  made  no  attempt  to  come  up  the  LT  it 

once  when  there  was  need  of  her  she  held  herself  aloof  , 

Its  the  hour,     Maggie  declared.     "I  said  from  the 
first  that  it  was  too  ridiculously  early  " 

Clorinda  murmured,  faintly:  "I  shall  be  better  soon 
Then  we  can  go  on  again."  ^^' 

iJ^'  ^f  ^  Leslie  returned  with  the  water  and  she  had 

made  the  effort,  she  relapsed  again,  seeming  for  a  sec^l 
or  two  about  to  lose  consciousness.    The  effo^sT^ 

^:i'^J^l:^L-\?^^:  Tears  -Itr^ 

i  shoulder. 


314 


Lm  very 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


We'extL^Sr^  "*-=   "»«t  it's  What  I  o„^t  ^ 

"•Id  hand  in  his,  imhliT^'^-  ^^  *^^  ^^  ^P' 
the  occasional  lo^k  otml^^^''°^  "^  ''^  -«^  S 
to  make  itself  a  smile  ^^  ^nden^ess.  which  tried 
It  was  MaggirJhoti^'j^'^^t^ed  toward  him. 
got  to  be  put  off.  Here  it  i,  T  ^'^  '^^°''°"-  "It's 
she's  not  able  to  stand  uTyet  I^/J^'  "'"^"^  ^^ 
eight  was  absurd.    Doctor  cln  ^™  ^^^  ^t  that 

hcmse  later  in  the  ^Tlb.TZ''^'}  '^'^^  «P  to  the 

But  later  in  the  dartt,Z.  '^^'^  there." 

rinda  was  confine^^f^;''^-- opportunity.    Clo- 

^e  no  one  but  Mag^e  wL^  •        '''^  '^'  »"<J  co-old 
^e„oldDoctor1£U:^^edh«^,f«,^ 

suffering  from  shock  foul^^^""^ ''^  ^<J  she  was 
stmin.  On  Bainbridg^f  3  °"  ^^'°-S^  «en^ 
might  have  been  und^.  „^il",/.>!  ^''""gh  she 
nothing  in  the  natuiTo"  ^Tl  ?^'  *h«^  had  been 
gray  head  and  thr^™"!  t^^  ^  '*«'k  his  shaggy 
»  that  case  her^StS  S^^t^"  ""'  "^^^^^ 

So  Shrove  Tuesday  p2ed3 1  ^  «=oounted  for. 
and  Lent  began,  and  Eri^^.f  "^^"^^^^P^-ed. 
«^as  nothing  to  go  awavfo^  t  Z  1  ^°  ^^^y-  Th"* 
about  his  work.  wlS^l/"'^'  ^"  ^^«*  "J'^^'y 
">e  day  when  he  ^aTiable'^r''  ^f  "^*^^  ^- 
he  could  do  so  aU  was  of  n^ll  k"^  ^'°""''^-  Till 
veil  was  not  only  den^K*^^™^  to  him.    The 

and  confusing  about  his  feet  H^^'m  ^^  entangling 
but  his  obvious  dutie^^^^;««"d  to  nothing 
y^jj^  vo,  autrceiy  darmg  so  much  as  to 

31$ 


J 


THE   LIFTEO  VEIL 

nuS^.^Sr;^,^^^'-  -  House.  «.d 

'■I've  ^e  :Z^,  rl  ""7^  "^"^  *«  Him. 

that  she'd  rather  ha. J  Kr^«,.„      '  "«  «^  ««  ^d 
GaUoway  she  has     Well  »       Ga"°way;   and  so  Mary 

thelastJers^ntofot^lj^rr^V'^^*^'*'    I^ 
thought  ^see^lT^    ^"  f*"**  ^  ">  n°t  wanted.    I 

1-iiesh.Sdg^Shtt^u'H "? '  ^^^''^'^^ «-; 

The  Lord  knoiri  c5^  ,"^"^  ^^  8*^"  her  away, 
things     Th7,d^  of  t^     care-^cept  for  the  look  of 

No  wondl'tl^Jbl':  Si^.'^u'r'^  "^  «-^ 

It  was  only  irc^Zt^^    ^  *^'  "^^  °^  '*'' 

Bainbridge  got  anv^ J^  f  f  "^^y-  therefore,   that 

As  far  af  he't^ob^^Ilt^'  "T  ^  ^"^  "«'- 
into  that  meS^  S,?'T?'f.*°  Have  relapsed 

Had  noticed  in  h^  dZ?  -"^  *"''  ^«^*  ''Hich  he 
^e  flitted  frc^  th7:S°^^H'°^  ^"^^  ««  ^^^ 
church  to  CloriaS'S^^n  .  "'"^  ^-^  ^"»"  the 

««ly  got  a  zZZ'o,1t^Z\7SaT'  *"*  ""^ 
to  lus  questions  had  Uttle  variety  ^'  ''"'  ^°^^ 

he  able  to  see  any  one^t  «^e  n  '.^''  ''^^  "^^'U 

«=an't  talk  auchlv^^tti?  "rr^""  ^°' *« 
<«ly  in  a  geneialT^as  to  hn!  ^  ^"^  ^°^-  »«* 
a«  doing  and  thj^^rt  ^  .\  ^°"  ^  ^"^  *Hat  you 
after  hov^Z^nirtU^S^  ^f'  ^"*  *^«^  f"'  Hour 
^„  ""^^'^Hes  there  and  doesn't  say  anything  at 

;;Do«^she  ever  speak  of  Malcolm  Giant?" 
3i6 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

On  one  occasion  he  asked  the  question.   "What's 
reaUy  the  matter  with  hetweaHyf" 

She  began  to  move  away  from  him.     "  Doctor  Rinfr«,l 
insists  that  she's  had  a  shock."  ^^       *^ 

"But  what  shock  can  she  have  had'" 
She  shook  her  head  and  said  nothing 

riJ      aI  ^^''"8  "^^  ^^^■"  she  said,  hur- 

riedly, adding  over  her  shoulder  as  she  left  him   "Sh^s 

"ZtTT^'^'  -^^^  ''-^  '  haven't ridea" 
rf^T  S?"bnd8e  brooded  over  the  suspicion  as  he  won- 
dered and  prayed  and  worked.    He  looked  hagga^  Z 

to  trouble  hrni.  Was  he  still  engaged  toTer?  S 
he  be  said  to  be  married  to  her.'  ThL  was  oTcoi^t^ 
2  ^^^ V"*  '^^  "^  -^y  P-ounc^  "I 
^  k™  7'  ';'""^''-  ^'"'^  ^^  had  gone  so  far.  was 
^e  bound  m  honoi^was  he  bound  in  honoi^to  go^ 

S-  L^  rr°"^  ^  ^  ^  cimimstances  would  ^w" 
Or  had  all  his  romance  faded  into  unreality  and  mJh. 
«ity  with   aorinda's  withdi^wal  il"'^  ^^^ 

It  was  with  some  thought  of  this  heartbreaking  nos- 
«bdity  that  he  said  one  day  to  Doctor  gSKJ  ^ 
t  seemed  adv^ble.  <»uld  I  have  leave  of  a^en" 
togo  ov.  to  France  for  a  few  months  to  s«  whaT^ 

r^^Tw  ''^L^P  ^  ^"^^  ^  *he  closet  appn^ 
pnated  to  his  vestments,  saying  as  he  did  so.  "0^^ 
what  capacity?" 

h«S?  M*^?' 7''°  was  in  his  street  clothes,  stood  by  the 

h^e  table  laden  with  books  and  registei^  that  held  the 

center  of  the  vestiy.    "I  was  thinking  of  work  as  am- 

317 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


hnny."  — provioed  you  don't  take  it  in  , 

oWig^  to  take  thTit?^thX:!,'=^T«-*  -«■- 
Mistake.  Bainbridge.  AH  tLT  ,  ^^  ^tervene. 
to  those  who  will  fet  Z^  Ti7T  'T""^  '"'  «°«1 
'"se  thing  for  you  to  go^ver  to  pt"  "  r^'  *°  ^  « 
obvious."  There  was  a  te^Z  *°/'^'f  "  ^  become 
voice  as  he  added  "D^n't  ^^f  '"  ^^^  asthmatic  old 

Bainbridge  refl«:tS^  J  1'^^*  ''  ^^  i'  d°es." 

at  last.     "Is  it  w?rki^  tShfr  Jr.°'  ^'^^ "  '^^  ^«> 
"It  is-in  the  Jr"  .w    .     ^"'■^^PP'ness.?" 

thing.  ItWr^^Xfide^^^^*-^^  *^  ^^^  high 
ness  to  say  that  hap^L  S^^J  ^^- *  °^  ^t">tioul 
conditions  tnake  oP^-  .  T*^'"*''  *''«*»  what 
Buddha-like  featui^^h^^f^;  dawned  °^^  the 
«>ding  to  a  book   for  inl  *^°  "^y-    "A  happy 

the  hen>  andS^lnl  L^^d  T*  *'  "''^"^  ^'^ 
that  in  which  th^-rT^ T  ^^'  ^  ^°^  time;  it's 
downward.    ThebLn/l  •         !■  "^  '"=tead  of  going 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

wrestang  with  a  great  experience." 

J^^l-^°",f'^  '^^''^^  «  ^W"  there  was  a 
nrfer«^ce  to  himself;  but  if  so  it  was  the  nearest  the  old 

Tnw^  T"  n.  ''■  ^°^  ^  '^^  he  asked,  castluT 
mZZ  5i";,^'^"^«=«-«?"  but  he  paid  little  Tno 
Kr*!,  i  *'l!^-  B^"bridge  wondered  if  he 
tnrough.  or  so  much  as  cared  ^^^ 

spSr^r  m'I"^  ^*  ***  Bainbridge  come  to  actual 

Th  w^  /'  '"'**"'«'  ''here  war  was  the  topic 

and  both  were  frequenUy  speaken,.  While  it  could^ 
be  said  that  they  avoided  each  other,  as  L^iTand  hi 

JilL^H^  t?^-„  Bainbridge  had  not  noticed  that  he 
looked  older  hm^f ,  but  he  did  notice  it  in  the  case  of  hL 
nval.     Day  by  day  the  lines  of  his  face  appeared  to  be 

S^  ~*' ,:!:!''  "''"'  '^^  ^  fleshliness  SnilS 
steaday  yidded  to  some  fonn  of  i«ier  struggle.  ^ 

bndge  did  him  the  Justice  to  think  that  the'^conflirtl, 

that  quarter  was  not  less  x-iolent  than  in  his  own 

But  they  met  quite  accidentally  at  the  comer  of  a  street 

^dmg  from  Fifth  Avenue.    They  were  on  their  ^yl^ 

d^wmg-room  meeting  at  which  Grant  was  to  stir  sym! 

pathy  by  reading  some  of  his  letters  fn»n  the  fi^ 

Itwa*  m  days  when  the  sharing  of  such  interests  was  stiD 

tnfrr  'ir^  "ecessary  to  walk  the  few  hundred  yarfs 
tog^er.  they  managed  to  do  so  without  a  too  S 
embanassment^  It  was  when  the  fh^  commonpla^ 
had  been  passed  that  Grant  surprised  the  younger^ 
with  the  simple  question,  "How  is  M,,.  Gildei^eeve?" 
3^9 


IIH 


1- 
H 
■■': 

■t 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

ba««et  said.  XupUy  ^'^'  *  "**'«'  '^««-  ««« 

^The  natural  ^nquny  was.   "InadverJu^  .h^t 
Bainbridge  stopped  in  his  wait  «^ft,.**u 

"vZl     ,V'*^^^™^^*>°n''as  just  audible. 

mind  that  you  deserved  hT   r    •        "  °^^  «P  ""^ 

I  only  went^o  ^VS„  h^ft^^  T  """^  *^* 
and  tell  her  that."  ^  ""  °"«^  '^^  «  tnAe  of  a  present- 

"And  she  fainted?" 

la^^^ilalk^.^r'Tj^^^T'^-'^^o-the 
whole  thingTtte  nrin;,-  ,^°",^'^  ^hat  you'd  leave  the 
whichever  of^^L  2?  1  "^^'^  ^"^  wn,ng-and 
Wen.  r  thoulhTlTas^tr         "^'^^  "°^''  ^^*  ''*• 

3>o 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

the  dergyman's  shoulder,  he  looked  down  into  his  eyes 
with  a  smile.    "You've  been  a  corker,  old  chap—" 

"Yes,  but  why  should  she  faint?" 
^  He  removed  his  hand,  his  face  growing  grave  again. 
"Before  God,  old  man,  I  don't  know.    She  followed  me 
easily  enough  while  I  was  sizing  you  up  and  saying  what 
a  good  un  you'd  been— what?— ^d  then  all  at  once— 
when  we  were  talking  of  the  afternoon  you  and  she  came  in 
and   found  me   waiting— you   remember!— and    I   was 
saying  how  magnificently  you'd  risen  to  that— when  you'd 
never  known— what?— and  of  course  I  couldn't  help  re- 
ferring to  the  circumstances  of  three  and  four  years  ago 
—but  I  did  it  deUcately— the  way  she  likes— well,  all  I 
can  say  is  that  she  just  toppled  over  like  a  rag— like  a 
dead  woman— and  if  I  hadn't  caught  her  she'd  have  tum- 
bled off  the  chair.    Luckily  there  was  a  bell  within  reach, 
and  when  I'd  pressed  it  that  little  Pansy  girl— the  pretty 
one— came  running  in,  and  acted  hke  a  brick.    She  knew 
what  to  do— and  brought  her  round— but— but— I  had 
to  make  myself  scarce,  of  course.    Since  then  I  haven't— " 
For  lack  of  anything  more  to  say  they  walked  on  again 
in  silence.    Bainbridge  was  again  struggling  with  him- 
self.   All  his  nerve  had  been  strained  to  keep  from  shcut- 
ing  "You  fool!"  in  the  face  of  this  good  fellow  who  had 
thought  he  was  doing  him  a  service.    Something,  he  felt, 
he  must  say— something  that  would  relieve  his  excite- 
ment and  show  this  blunderer  tixc  harm  he  had  done  unwit- 
tingly.    K  the  fact  that  it  was  unwitting  might  be 
pleaded  as  an  excuse,  it  was  also  a  reason  for  plain 
speaking.    He  was   actually  phrasing   a   sentence   that 
would  not  only  be  neat  and  courteous,  but  would  also 
tell   this   great   simpleton    something   he   would  never 
forget — ^when  he  remembered. 

331 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

had  been  of  ^^^ilSce^^S.',  '^.*"'  '"^ 
case,  too;  and  so  thev  »«^*  Probably  of  God  in  this 
breaking  it.  "^"^^""''^tothedoorwithw? 


CHAPTER  XXII 

y  HUS  Malcolm  Grant  never  knew  what  he  had  done 
*  nor  did  Bambridge  ever  refer  to  it.  He  had  one 
secret  the  more  to  keep,  and  that  was  aU.  He  made  nc 
maition  of  it  even  when  Clorinda  sent  for  him  and  all  the 
veils  were  lifted. 

That  was  a  morning  in  April,  when  he  had  not  seen  her 
for  nearly  two  months.  He  found  her  changed,  emaci- 
ated, with  some  of  her  beauty  gone.  In  her  indefinable 
chann  she  had  gamed,  however,  as  well  as  in  that  air  of 
s^w  and  mystery  that  had  at  all  times  hung  about  her 
like  a  magic  cloak. 

She  was  ^  seated,  half  reclining,  in  a  long  chair 
near  the  window  of  an  up-stairs  sitting-room  on  the  third 
floor-a  fauy  garden  of  flowered  chintz.  Bowls  of  daf- 
fodils and  tuhps  stood  about,  and  the  sunshine  was  not  so 
not  as  to  need  tempering. 

She  allowed  him  to  kiss  her  hand,  though  waving  him 
away  with  a  slight  gesture  when  he  attempted  to  repeat 
the  homage  on  her  Ups.  By  methods  so  deUcate  andso 
deft  as  to  defy  his  power  of  analysis  she  managed  to 
««ivey  to  hun  the  impression  that  they  met  on  a  new  foot- 
ing. He  noticed  that  she  no  longer  wore  the  ring  he  had 
^"^  ^■2°'  ^^  ^^  ^  wedding-ring,  though  this  he 
could  attribute  to  the  fact  that  her  fin^  had  grown  » 
thm  that  even  the  gold  band  was  loose  on  it. 

The  aerial  effect  of  her  laces  and  tissues  and  gauzes, 
3*3 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

^tL^ 'Tt^ ''"**  *° '^^  «»d  from  lilac  to  pale 

questian?ie  aZi  1^  w    '  ''''""  ^'  '^  "^^  ^ 

Sved  t;  £Sf  hi  Stir'  °""*^  ^*"'  "'^* 
telling  her  atteahon  was  not  on  what  he  was 

::Butnot.enSr.^^2^-^t^w^- 

Uh,  IS  one  ever  well  mentallv?    T  n»™-  t,       u 
thoueh  as  I  irv,i,  k.„i.  .."'™'*"yf    ^  never  have  been— 
ujuugn,  as  1  look  back  it  seems  to  me  as  if  t  t,„A  v 

keeps  them  from  makiag  them?'^^  ^stakes,  and  that 


3*4 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

"Let  us  come  to  that  later.  I'm  more  interested  in  the 
question  I've  put  than  in  anything  else  in  the  worid.  All 
through  these  weeks  when  I've  been  lying  here  as  if  I  was 
thinking  of  nothing  at  alli've  been  turning  it  over.  Are 
people  ever  held  back  from  doing  things  that  would  injure 
either  themselves  or  some  one  else?" 

He  tried  to  tear  his  mind  away  from  the  image  of  weak- 
ness and  wistfulness,  of  loveliness  and  seductiveness,  on 
which  he  felt  his  eyes  couldn't  rest  eagerly  enough,  to  give 
himself  to  the  subject  she  had  raised.  "What  sort  of 
people?"  he  found  himself  able  to  inquire. 

"Oh,  people  who  want  to  do  right— not  good  people," 
she  corrected,  "but  people  who  haven't  been  good,  and 
are  only  trying— and  longing. ' ' 

"Doesn't  that  hark  back  to  the  question  as  to  whether 
there's  a  power  working  in  us  and  through  us,  with  a  pur- 
pose and  a  love— or  whether  we're  just  splashing  about  on 
our  own?" 
"I  suppose  it  does.    But  which  is  it?" 
"Which  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  want  to  think.  I  wan^  you  to  tell  me." 
"And  I'm  not  going  to,  for  the  reason  that  it  wouldn't 
do  any  good.  Whatlbdievewon't  beof  anyhelptoyou; 
and  nothing  will  he  but  what  you  work  out  for  yourself." 
She  rested  awhile  silently,  saying  at  last,  without 
looking  up  at  him,  "And  suppose  I  worked  out  that  on 
that  morning  when  we— when  we  went  to  the  church 
there  was  a  power— working  in  us  and  through  us— with  a 
purpose  and  a  love— that  kept  us  from  doing  what  we 
went  there  to  do?" 

"You'd  have  to  go  farther  back.  You'd  have  to  in- 
quire why  that  power  should  have  led  us  to  the  church  in 
the  first  place — " 

325 


H 


I 


t 


HI 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 


"But  did  it?" 
"But  didn't  it?" 

not  directly  but  Wirt         vf    ^  '""'""^  **  ^"^  n*^- 
cy«^;;  tfrjT     ?  '*''''"''  "8"^  °f  her  p„,found 

that  aften^oon  I  never  ^^"H^^l  ''^  *°  y- 

sho^d  l^eS;."°^'-^  ^"^^  ^^«  ^°'--  ''-  I 
Jhe  aJlowed  her  hand  to  i«nain  in  his  when  he  had 
S?if"<K:**°f'^"^-     "Y-:P«-hapsyou'^ 

tellin/^^-thelr^'  "^^^  "^  ^^  ^'^'  ^^  °' 
™o:^ht?S."--L^-;-ea^.n« 

^^^  know  about  it  now-^d  it  doesn't  n,ake  any 
"Ah,  if  it  didn't!" 
'■But  it  doesn't.    Can't  you  see—?" 

now—"  greater  than  yours;    but 

J^ofollrr^^'r*'*-  '«^y"otletitbethegn«nd. 
work  of  our  love-what  we  have  under  our  feet?'^^ 

fi™,i  'V  '^^,  "'y  *^*-    ^*'«  °^«-  my  head-it's  the 
326 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

The  words  burst  from  his  lips  with  the  accumulated 
force  of  two  months  of  brooding  on  the  point.  "But  no 
woman  wants  to  marry  God.  She  wants  to  marry  a 
man.  I'm  a  man,  Qorinda,  just  as  much  as  j-ou're  a 
woman."  He  seized  both  her  hands  and  crushed  them,  as 
he  leaned  over  her,  his  face  near  hers.  "Oh,  don't  put  a 
halo  round  me  and  set  me  up  in  stained  glass,  or  see  me  as 
anything  but  just  the  faulty  aud  humble  human  being 
that  I  am." 

She  managed  to  withdraw  her  hands  and  to  put  dis- 
tance between  them.  "I  can  only  see  you  as  you  appear 
to  me.  You  may  be  a  faulty  and  humble  human  being, 
as  you  say,  but  I've  never  perceived  it,  and  I  perceive  it 
less  than  ever  now." 

"But  you  must  perceive  it— because,  if  you  did,  you'd 
love  me — " 

"I've  told  you  abeady  that  I  do  love  yott— with  a 
special  kind  of  love." 

"The  kind  of  love  one  feels  for  a  clergyman,"  he  cried, 
bitterly. 

"I  withdraw  the  word  dergyman,"  she  smiled,  very 
gently.  "I  used  it  because  I  couldn't  think  of  anything 
else.  I  see  now  that  I  mean,  rather,  the  kind  <rf  love— 
don't  be  shocked!— that  Mary  Magdalen  and  the  other 
women  in  the  New  Testament  must  have  felt  toward  the 
Saviour.  No,  I'm  really  sincere.  It  is  love.  It's  the 
most  beautiful  and  heavenly  thing — " 

"But  if  I  tell  you  that  you're  wrong?"  he  demanded, 
passionately.  "If  I  confess  to  you  that  I  was  never  as 
gentle  as  you  seem  to  think— that  I  was  never  lenient— 
that  I'm  human  and  gross— that  essentially  I'm  brutal— 
as  brutal  as — as — " 

Before  the  name  which  the  comparison  brought  vsp 
4*7 


THE  LIFTED   VEIL 

^t  ^.'^'•^'^j^''^  ^^  -ith  her  fain, 
•elf  any  good     W^       ^  hurt  «,,  without  doing  your- 

often  iLStor^orL'*''"^"'  '"^  - -«'-^ 

You  can't  ^ al^l^ZZT'  '^'^^'^°-- 

by  the  process  of  i^g  J^lT^  1^°°  ^"«  i^' 

nothing.    But  you  dot,  rV*      "  ®  ^  crystal  vase-or  it's 

-  he  was  abouTto'^^*  '^^''T^  *«  ^-^ed  on. 

that  on  that  aftemoor,   ^  !^\      "°  ^^  remember 

said  that  I  shS^n^r^*  ""^^^  aftemoon.^you 

toward  Good?    wri^n7r^!f'"^»^t^«l 
j^^t."  '^^'  I  thmk  I've  done  it-mow^at 

;;  What  do  yew  mean  by  now?-at  last?" 

Hertp^il^S^r^Sr^'^Si-  ""^  ^-  -" 
What  I  must  do^  ^'  ^  ^"  ^<^^-    I*'"  t*"ght  me 

'■What  you  must  do  for  me.  Clorinda  is-" 

She  continued,  serenelv  "V  *i.  ,  ' 
done  as  much  for^^^e  h^'t-^°"  ^  ^^^ 
another.  I  never  supn^  th»TT^  "^  °^*^  <^°  f-* 
P  so  far  as  you  w  "t'Eay-tLTT  'T"^  "^^ 
m  and  found  MalcohnG™^f  a  t^  ^^^  ^  '^^ 
<lidn't  «ally  know  SlJ^:^,"  ^-^  yo« 
on  you—"  ^^  "*^^  «™e  crowding  in 

"No  I^n';     T.     ''^ ''™^e  m,  excitedly.  ' 

in  y^  hSt'  I  :r^af  ^^T*'^-'-*-- 

didn't  understand  tmiS^I^       Jo^^d-^d  what  I 
the  church.    ^  I  don't  i    f^"'^''*  ^'^  ^^  ^^^  to 

3»8 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

that  you  knew  frcan  the  first— was  shivered  to  atoms 
around  me.  I  thought  it  would  kiU  me.  On  that  moni- 
mg  in  the  church  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  must  die  I 
couldn't  see  what  else  I  could  do-then— so  late— but 
stmply  go  on  as  I'd  promised  you— and  yet  ...  I  told 
you  it  was  what  I  ought  to  have  expected— that  I  should 
tweak  down-didn't  I?  What  I  really  thought-what  I 
ahnost  hoped  for— was  that  I  might  be  struck  dead  before 
the  service  could  be  ended.  That's  why  I've  asked  you 
about  the  great  corrective-the  something  that  holds  us 
back— that  guides  us,  if  you  like-«r  protects  us.  I'm  not 
thmking  of  it  about  me,  but  about  you—" 

He  broke  in,  with  a  groan.  "Oh,  Clorinda,  why  should 
we  go  over  all  this  now?" 

"For  this  reason,  that  during  all  these  weeks  I've  been 
thinking  of  it,  and  realizing  that  the  strength  to  do  what 
you  did  th?t  day— to  sit  stiU  and  talk  and  betray  nothing 
—and  never  betray  anything  afterward— so  that  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  an  accident— just  an  expression  or  two— I 
might  have  married  you  and  never  known  it— I've  realized 
that  the  strength  to  do  that  kind  of  thing  doesn't  come 
to  aay  man  all  at  onoe,  nor  except  after  years  of  self- 
training — " 

"To  me  it  came  because  I  loved  you,  Qorinda— and  in 
no  other  way." 

"No;  it  would  have  come  to  you  whether  you  had 
loved  me  or  not.  It  would  have  come  to  you  on  behalf 
of  any  poor  soul  in  a  desperate  place— as  I  was— no 
matter  who.  Not  that  that  takes  anything  away  from 
your  wonderful  act  toward  me.  On  the  contrary,  it  only 
makes  it  the  more  wonderful.  What  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand is  that  it  has  set  me  asking  how  people  do  such 
things  at  all." 

3»9 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 


Tl»t'«  the  soum  of  the 


"They  do  them  for  love 
enei^y." 

It  es,  ao  I  we.    But  lov«  ;•  «— .  i  ^t 

I'm  beginning  to«^t^  I'  ""'y  ^''^^Sh  you  that 

n<|ver  did  befo^.  though  I'X.^^  "7^  ^'"*-    ' 
!'•»  an  ertr«wdinMyT,k  7«ST^  ^'^  "*  "'  *^  ««"»• 

«y»-the  words  inCsJ  LIS'  °°?  ^^  ''he«>  it 
whosoever  loveth T^„?^i^'''*  "  "^  God;  and 
That  strikes  me  «  ^.JT  °*^  ^"^  >°«^«th  God^ 
^hnplifies  somT^g";?^  ^^^"^^  ^  "^  ^t 
ficult.  if  not  imposlbr-^  «««tomed  to  think  of  a,  k 

toJ'^iS^SirdtS^'^r^^'ovin.we-.in 
feel  that  He's  unknowaWr^C''^?  '^''^  «>  likely  to 

She  nodded  ^^m  ^^"""^  °"  ««*•" 

mUy  knew  aboutlS fo^  ZTl^l  *^«,  "^^^  ^^  I 
vwy  little.  I  hadn't  vmll^itl  7  T^  ^"^  ^  "^ew 
and  its  beauty.  You'^^  ^^^  '^  '*^  depth 
hand.^g^/CT^y7^t."    Shetoorhis 

that's  a  great  deal  for  a^Zn  tn^T  L^  *'^  *^t 

could  never  say  any  m^r^^Zl^-Tftt''^^    "«^ 
«w  say  more."  she  hi^^     !  ^,  '»"'*•    But  I 

^P«ak.  "I'm  goiTtoTTto  JT'.r*,""°^^  »^  to 
P«cti«^to  %^Z  ZSyZl^^^  "^  '°-  -*o 
bemg-just  as  you  do  O,  •"!!  tow^  every  human 
her  eyes  fiUed  with  teare  Ih'e  hT^  7"*  ^^  "  ""'e. 
demand  you  don't  unSi^^  w^tis  r""^''  "'"*  ' 
rhj^yc^'Ubesurethat-ThtrStt^^^^^ 

--ti^^"::o!°rtnirj"^^-^^— 

33° 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

"  Ym,  toward  you,  too— toward  you  more  than  any  ona 
— in  its  way." 

"But  in  what  way?" 

"In  the  way  of  a  great  gratitude  and  devotion."  She 
laid  her  other  hand  on  his.  "WiU  you  promise  me  to 
believe  that?" 

"But  why  should  I  promise  yott-*hea  we're  always 
going  to  be  together?" 

"  Promise  me,  all  the  same." 

"You  know  I  can't  but  promise  anything  you  ask." 

"Thank  you,"  she  smiled.  "I  shall  only  ask  you  this; 
and  this  I  shaU  beg  you  never  to  forget."  She  withdrew 
her  hand  from  his,  lying  back  with  eyes  closed.  "I'm 
very  tirdd,"  she  murmured.  "Would  you  mind  saying 
good-by  to  me  now—?" 

"But,  Clorinda,  I've  only  come!" 

"  They  won't  let  me  talk  long  yet.  Besides— I  have  to 
keep  my  strength  for— for  something  I've  got  to  do  later 
in  the  day.  Ill— I'll  communicate— with  you— soon 
again.    In  the  mean  while— kiss  me— and  go." 

She  was  still  lying  with  closed  eyes  when  he  raised  him- 
self from  the  long  kiss  on  her  lips,  and  stood  up.  "Clo- 
rinda," he  said,  hoarsely,  as  he  looked  down  on  her,  "I'm 
afraid  of  you.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean— or  what 
you  intend  to  do— but  I  want  you  to  know  what  /  mean 
—and  what  /  intend.  I  intend  to  many  you.  I  mean 
that  nothing  shall  ever  come  between  us.  I've  said 
solemnly— before  witnesses--that  I  took  you  as  my  wife. 
You  very  nearly  said  that  you  took  me  as  your  husband. 
I'm  coming  back  for  the  completion  of  that  vow.  I  shall 
come  to-morrow.  Doctor  Galloway  will  come  with  me— 
and  we'll  have  the  service  here.  It  will  give  you  no  trouble. 
You  needn't  so  much  as  stand  up.  But— I'm  ccming." 
331 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

ir^r^-*  for  one  „L  W^C^hT^^^.S 

«^«L!'S.'^ •"  ^*  ''•^^  *^<«y.  "-  I  ten  you 

Though  he  was  staggering  along   with  u^  w  a- 
him-he  hardly  knew  for  wLt-^fe  ^Tj^  ^^ 
^  mind   to   this   new   demand     'S^  V^ 
What  is  it?"  vnanana.       Certainly,    Pansy, 

The  girl  Uushed  and  grew  consdous     "Tf.  .»„  . 
about  Mr.  Hindmarsh,  sir."     ^*^**"-      «»  about- 

" Isn't  he  kind  to  you?" 
^h  3^.  sir;  he's  lovely.    He's-he's  asked  me  t<^to 

do«rhe^^"^*^"'^^"«'*  his  attention.    "But 

_^d  what  has  he  said  to  that?" 
acJSt^oSt^p^lJlS'r,^*  ^^°— <^  that  it's  on 

•n--o  that  noEj  w^?  hL^tr  °  ^^'i.""  °^ 
<■  A_j  .       ,,      J?  ''  ""Ppen  to  me  agam 

«^  I  was  to  be  an  the  more  sure  that  I  was  in  love  with 
"And  are  you?" 

33a 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL 

Pto«y'«  bosom  sweUed.    "I  don't  care  whether  I  «n 
or  not.    If  he  feels  that  way  about  me—" 

ClUnlT"  '^fri  ^"  '  '^'^  *°  "^"'^  "^  enigniatical  in 
Uonnda.  And  have  you  told  that  to  Mis.  Gader- 
sleeve,  too? 

"Yes,  sir;  and  she  says  I  ought  to  be  suns  I  know  the 
oiHerence  between  love  and  thankftUness." 
''^d-«nd  does  she  say  there's  much  difiEerence?" 
She  says  there  is-when  it's  any  one  like-like  me. 
She  says  the  kinder  he  is  the  more  I  ought  to  consider 
lum;  and  that  to  marry  him  without  loving  him  with  aU 
my  heart  d  be  the  worst  harm  I  could  do  him." 
"But  if  he's  in  love  n-ith  you!" 

"That's  what  /  say.    But  she  says  it  'd  make  it  worse, 
because  when  a  girl  has  once  gone  wrong,  like-all  she's 
got  eft  to  give  is  her  undivided  heart-that  if  she  hasn't 
got  that  she  hasn't  got  nothing^-and  if  I  was  to  turn  him 
down  he  d   get  over  it  and  marry  some  one  who'd  be 
better  for  hmi  in  the  end." 
"And  do  you  want  me  to  advise  you  what  to  do'" 
To  his  surprise  Pansy  said:   "No,  sir,"  quite  conclu- 
sively  nodding  her  little  head,  sagely.     "I'm  going  to 
take  hmi.    If  I  didn't-I  might  never  get  such  a  good 
chance  again.    Mrs.  Gildersleeve  says  she  won't  put  no 
obstacle  m  my  way-only  that  if  it  was  her-«he'd  give 
the  m^  her  very  best-or  else  she  wouldn't  do  him  the 
narm  of  taking  him  at  all." 

Bainbridge  was  not  sure  of  the  meaning  of  Pansy's 
httle  sob,  nor  could  he  stop  longer  to  inquire.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  undivided  heart,  being  sui«  that  thp  ex- 
pression was  Clorinda's  own.  It  was  an  additional 
incentive,  if  he  needed  any,  for  taking  Doctor  Galloway 
mto  his  confidence  and  making  those  artangementJ=  for 
333 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

^ef^  day  of  whid.  he  h«l  .h««,y  «^,^  ^ 


He  was 


,^;!±!!f^""*--^when: 


of  the  day  "^uaaua  mio  tne  news  items 

mechanical.    He  laid  the^^d„!f  ^  ""^  ^^^ 

n,«™»     tr        T^'        *  '*^'  «*  tmiling  thine  of 


>  you've  heard. 
"Oh,  but  it  isn't  sol" 


334 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

■'I'm  afraid  I  must  teU  you  that  it  is.  She  sent  for  me 
last  ev«ung-^y  an  hour  or  so  before  they  ^t  to  the 
a^th'^^^tr*'^".    ^'»<'^''eas%r^Lrbl^ 

D    ^"  L  happened  m  the  afternoon  " 

••n^*.^'^  ^  ^  ^8^^  ^^  ^^  and  cried  out 
Oh,  but  how  could  she?"  ' 

'        They  continued  to  stand,  while  she  did  her  fc«t  t« 
«cplam     "Qorinda  wanted  me  to  t^^  SaShS 
^e  d,d  it  be^use-because  she  c»uldn1  h"^  it     Ev^ 
thmg  made  het-first  becaus^-oh,  you  mustXe^TZ. 
bemuse  she'd  always  b.^  in  love  ^th  h^JTy^ 

and  there  were  misunde«tanding<=-anrshe'd  sw^rn 
IZ'J'  T^  ''^'^ever!  ...  Only  when  she  °  w 
W  near  she  came  to  marrying  you-4nd  doinrycTI 
g^deal  «f  hann-^nd  spoiling  yo^  work-Jd  ^^ 
hfe-^e  sent  for  him  and  told  him  " 

Thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  he  panted  between 
his  clenched  teeth,  "Go  on."  oetween 

^^he  wanted  you  to  understand  that  it  was  for  your 

ke^ft"^^*^"""^  °^  "•"  inarticulate  sound  he  made 
Jcept  It  from  bemg  qwte  a  groan. 

"She  knew  she  could  never  have  been  to  you  the  wife 

^en  s  had  been  r^ht-that  everything  was  a£t  t- 
things,  so  she  said,  that  you  knew  about  ^Tttat  I 
didn't  undei^d-just  a^^ust  as  J^lZ^)^ 
fte  other  thing."  Her  Kp  ti^nbledShT^rw^ 
ftdl  of  compassion  as  she  gazed  up  at  him.    "7c^^^^ 

he  jh;::*  ""^  'r  "^^  "^^  ^^  '^  monthix* 

he^^jhe  man  sh^^e  really  loved-loved  that  way. 
335 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

He  flung  out  his  hands.    "Then  why  didn't  you?" 
Bemuse  you  seemed  to  know  it  yourself.    That  eve- 
mngj-before  you  were  to  have  been  mairied-you  prac- 
tically said  so."  '      ^ 

"But  don't  you  know  that  we  all  «»nt«dict  ourselves? 

^^  ..      u*^T  '*  "^  *°  '^^^  y^  contradict  mer 

That  s  what  I  thought;  only  that  it  seemed  to  me- 
too  late.  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  do  but  let  you 
go  on-and  put  the  best  Ught  on  it  possible."    She  tried 

^1  "^f^*  ^°"-    ^'^^  ^^-^y  ^  ^  that  ^V. 
I  here  are  two  ways— and  one  way--" 

"Makes  people  marry,"  he  declared,  with  a  kind  of 

savagery     whUe  the  other  turns  mairiage  into  a  sacrilege  " 

y«,  that  s  It     You  do  understand.    You  remember 

my  teUing  you  that  she  once  said  you  wer^were  too 

LJtJ^^  ^^  wonderfuUy-in  things  I  don't 

^T.^r^.^^^T^^  ^^  ^"'*  '^'^  S^titude  toward 
you  that  she  didn't  know  it  fn»n  love.  She  thought  she 
ought  to  many  you,  if  you  wanted  to  many  her.  She 
said  that  she  couldn't  .««^^speciaUy  with  the  other  thing 
--the  real  thmg-^f  UuU  kind-«,  mixed  up  and^ 
tangled-^d  with  her  own  hard  feeling  toward  Malcolm 
Graat-which  was  reaUy  a  phase  of  lov^-about  some- 
ttmg  she  s  never  told  me.  ...  And  thei^when  she  was 
^y  m  the  church  that  day-with  a  tot  of  things 
dear  to  h«-  that  had  been  dark  before  that-she  said  tt 
^  like  the  Mtmg  of  a  veilu-  WeU.  you  know  what 
happened— and  the  poor  thing  couldn't  help  it  " 

He  dtopp«i  into  a  chair.    With  anns  folded  on  a  table, 
he  Stared  wjth  head  erect  into  the  distance,  seeing  noth- 
m,  hJs  hps  compressed.    Timidly  she  drew  near  him 
336 


THE   LIFTED  VEIL 

standing  partly  behind  him.  and  summoning  all  her 
courage  to  say: 

«telH^*^«  aU  there  is  to  teU  you.  You  do  under- 
stand. T^eaffinnative  nod  of  his  head  encouraged  her 
to  go  on.  You— you  understand  everything,  and  so  I 
neednt  say  how  hard  this  has  been  for  me-"  As  he 
rajsed  his  head  to  fling  her  a  backward  look  she  drew  a 
httle  more  behmd  him.  leaning  over  his  shoulder  to  lay 

somethmg  on  the  table  in  front  of  him.  "She  asked  me  to 
give  you  this." 

For  long  minutes  he  leaned  on  his  folded  anns.  gazing 
at  the  envelope  on  which  his  own  name  was  written,  but 
making  no  effort  to  open  it.  When  he  did  so  it  was 
slowly,  and  as  if  in  a  dream. 

TTiwe  was  .xo  formal  beginning  and  no  signature.  It 
reminded  hrni  of  the  writing  Malcolm  Grant  had  brought 
to  hun  two  years  before. 

^J^  t^u-^  "^^  I  want  you  to  remember  that  I  am 
dmng  everythmg  forlove-^  you  taught  me.    You  may  Z 

^rt  more  gentty,  so  as  to  give  you  less  surprise  and  pain,  be- 
^  you  would  never  have  pemiitted  it.  Believe  ^I  ^ 
tato«  tie  on^y  way.  the  way  that  wiU  be  best  in  the  end  fo;  us  aU. 
^mU  hve  to  see  that;  and  if!  make  you  suffer  now.  the  day  wS 
oomew.henyouw:UknowhowrightIam-andfoitfveme.    When 

Ma^wUlteU  you  everything  else.  She  wiU  always  teX  to 
give  you  nevra  of  me.  Ask  her  sometimes.  She  wiU  give  n» 
ne^  of  you.  too.  We  shaU  not  be  altogether  separated^sTC 
as  we  have  her  as  a  bond  between  us.  It  ^  through  h<l 
J^  ZS'^^"*'^"  '^  -ember^^T^  ^. 

I  am  Iweping  yeur  ring.    Keep  mine. 
337 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 


put  into  his  breaS^cket  « ,vT  """"""P*'  "^^^  1« 
Looking  loundto  St  M^  **  ^l.*""*  °«3i"«y  note, 
had  left  him  ^coe  ^^  °*"°''*y'  ^e  found  she 

^  T^  '^ItZ'''  *•""  '^*''  folded  a™  and 
known  otheTw^  ^  sSeJ^t'  °'  "'•^'*  '»"'  ^ 
think.  He  h^T^tu^"^^,  "•"***  ^  ^*  "or  to 
experienced  rceV  S^^J^J  ^'^  -^ich  he  had 
^  going  down  Ev^v  '  "^  '''^  on  a  ship  that 
Ahalfiou^rt«i^"??  "^^  *o  be  sinking 

he  said,  with  what^^  u °  ^Z  ^'^^'^  °^^" 
suppose  I  may  be  ^^"^  ^*  "^  command,  "and  I 

lips  of  the  d^wn  Wanl  f^  f  ^  ^^  "^  *he  twitching 
^hcnaUwTI^^^f^.^o'fhim.  It  was  only 
go  away,  blurtS^lhi       Bambndge.  having  risen  to 

those  ^PP^Tmt^^T-  ""^''^  *^«  ^^  ^ 
or  a  great^^  Z^JZ.     ^^"^ ««  »  fireat  deal  of  joy, 
««d  Pass-^X^^.^  "„r"*  deal  of  both  togetlj 
ever  have  be^n^  '^^  ^^^^  they  should 

chj;^  after  which  he  blew  hfe^  ""  '"*^  '^  ^dker- 

another  billow-^d  so  oi^ W    *^  ""Jy  to  rise  in 
Bainbridge  confe3  t? «^        {  "^  *^*  «=««?" 
^  «»iessed  to  stroe  such  observatioa. 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"But  no  one  wave  is  a  creation  by  itself.  EachsprinK, 
fi«n  another-^rom  a  g«at  nmy  othe:^f3mS 
and  mymds  of  othe«,  back  to  the  beginning^S,^^ 
^  ^y  "^  lost  to  such  poor  kenT^^tS^JS 
Ift^^^y^^  ^  *^'y''*  «"  there,  definite,  n^S 
and  recorded  by  the  inteUigence  in  which  eve^  ^^S 
can  t  form  and  dissolve  unpen»ved  " 
J*^^  Bainbridge  made  a  sign  that  he  foUowed  compre- 

The  roll  of  the  deep  voice  suggested  a  Buddha  speakine 
from  some  age-long  seat  of  meditation.  "And^v^ 
toow  that  each  of  these  waves,  as  your  ste^  SesT 
v«y  weU.  then!    Just  so  with  the  phenomena  of  Ufe 

LT  -C^v  ^XT^'^'^  therx^-infinitely  far 
ba^  The  thmg  that  happens,  no  matter  how  you  mav 
question  it  or  wonder  at  it,  is  the  thing  that  ^^ 

^bo^^tohapp^  It's  the  biiSTth^ir^^^r 

littt«  ««A. °"  **"  '^  't  swamp  your 

™lL  you  can  make  it  one  more  boundirj  W 

on  the  voyage  which  is  to  take  you  home."       ^^ 

andreflected.  He  knew  it  was  in  substance  what  he  wo^ 
have  said  to  another  man;  and  yet  it  was  so  hard  f^Se 
physician  to  heal  himself'  * 

339 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

«« to  be  ia,le  to  .«  SK^Sd^'*  ^i~d  toonmch 

I  «n  kaepmg  th.  riag-^her,  I  h,^  ^^y^  j^  .^ 

"Have  you  heard  from  her?"  he  aske.1  iu=«  o  .. 
when  he  had  broueht  her  7hi<=  1  "^  GaUoway. 

exS'i^S.."   '^*— <^^  l-aPPy-^cept- 

Jooking  dawn  on  her  as^e  sat  J^  ^T"  ^'^  "^^ 

h«  been  lifted  for  he.-^e  h^bS^  ^f^*  "^  *  ^ 
on^t  was  dow^o«,  do:^at?t  fs^l^ 

also  see--"  his  ^JZ\^^lf^      **"  ''^  that!-and  I 

Write  that-TweTSlV^?^   u  '''  '^^'^-    ""«*  ^ 
_^jaat--or  well  talk  It  over  when  I  come  back.    Now 

-^;:^-^Ar."L"to':;£^.''*'"^  the 

X  will-^f  you-n  write  to  me  " 

340 


THE  LIFTED  VEIL 
,•„ *?^!  **  "^^^  '^  *"  '''^-  ^  »  periodical  he  found 

The  mamage  arranged  between  Mr.  Bainbridge  toe 
^^stont  rector  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen's,  ^Ave^ 
St^p^  ^•^«^--  (^-'^  Rintoul)"^ 

Somehow,  in  this  laconic  notice,  worded  after  the  m™* 
^rrect  nurfeb  of  its  kind,  he  divS«^^'E 
Higgms's  change  of  heart. 

He  was  more  sure  of  it,  however,  in  the  flattering  article 
onOormda  which  he  found  in  another  colunm^S 
de^^mg  the  ^dsome  residence  of  the  new  £aSSmt 
mSherbrooke  Street,  with  an  account  of  the  renLSe 
exertion  of  mnuatures  fonned  by  the  first  ban,net,  S 
S^Ma^cdm  Grant-^d  the  pn^hecy,  founded  on^ 
Lord  only  knew  what  mtuition  of  Miss  Higgins's  own  that 
mr^fon  of  his  splendid  services  and'Cic  ^^ 

Orant  would  soon  be  made  a  peer.  "«"«m 


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